Haunt Me on the New Year
by mavors4986
Summary: AU: When Gilbert left for medical school, Anne stayed at Green Gables. As friends and penpals, they keep in touch, until tragedy strikes, and Anne has to figure out how to live through a sadness she's never known.
1. introduction

**A/N: This story takes place in an AU of its own, unrelated to the Doctor's Wife series. In this AU, instead of proposing after recovering from typhoid, Gilbert and Anne renew their friendship. Anne stays at Green Gables, and Gilbert goes away to medical school, then finds work at a hospital in Prince Albert. Though the story is completely different, I've tried to keep the LMM world and characters more or less intact. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

 _December 2nd, 1892_

 _First table on the right, Dining hall, Royal University, Prince Albert, SK, Canada, Earth_

 _Dear Anne,_

 _I tried not to laugh at your latest letter, honest I did, but you've made that command quite impossible. The way you described Lavinia masticating your latest edition of_ TheTales _just did me in! When will you learn not to bring your papers outdoors? Or, if you must, at least try to keep them out of reach from the animals. You_ _know_ _you oughtn't take your writing with you when you're supposed to be focused on your chores. But enough scolding: tell me, how was the latest chapter received? A story fit for a prince surely made a breakfast fit for a cow._

 _Alright, alright, I'll stop teasing (for now)._ _I should let you know that Doug was cross at me for guffawing right across the wall from his bed while he was trying to nap. He got his retribution when I came back to my room after the night shift, and he proceeded to slam every door and drawer in his own room at five minute intervals, for a whole hour. So if I am poorly rested, it's really all your fault. There, are you satisfied, now? Sometimes, I think that I would rather like to move somewhere more private, but the cost of such accommodations is a bit high for the salary I receive now. Maybe next year, I'll have moved out of the staff lodgings, and into a house where I'd be free to laugh at your letters as loud as I wish._

 _But in all seriousness, I'm glad you've started the rewriting already. There used to be a time when such a disaster would have discouraged you altogether. Remember how long it took for you to get over your precious Averil? Months of brooding, claiming that all your artistic sensibility had perished overnight. You're made of tougher stuff now, Anne Shirley! I do wish you'd let me read your final draft once it's completed. The reason you are acting so shy about this tale in particular, when you made me review all the others without reservation, is still a mystery to me._

 _Unfortunately, I will not be able to come home for Christmas this year. Same as last year, we'll be celebrating here with a concert of hundreds of people coughing - no one here has been able to make any proper diagnosis yet, but at least it's not tuberculosis again. Still, we've all been asked to stay on for the time being, in anticipation that the situation may escalate. I came to the University to ask Dr. Locke to run some samples for us: the sooner we know what we're up against, the sooner we can start helping people. It doesn't seem so bad - the fatality rate is still low - but it's mighty sad to see the wards full of mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters who would like nothing more than to be with their families for the holidays._

 _Not all is grim here, though. Last Sunday, Rosieu (one of our best nurses, I'm sure I've mentioned her at least a couple times) burst into the doctor's lounge and announced she was retiring within a day's notice. It's not unusual for employees (especially the younger, newer blood) to want to quit after a short time here: no one can quite conceive how noisy the moans and occasional screams make a hospital, or how aggressive patients can get under duress, or how putrid the facilities smell, before spending at least a full week here. Well, Rosieu's been here for about a year, and as I've said, she's one of the more accomplished on our team, so we were shocked to see her go. When she shared her reason, we wouldn't believe her at first - she announced that she was pregnant! Some of us laughed, others scratched our heads, trying to make out the joke that was clearly hidden somewhere. As it turns out, 'Rosieu' (as we've been calling her) is actually 'Rose U.', and the 'U' stands for Ullmann_ _, as in Dr. Ullmann! No one had any idea they were married, let alone to each other, and for over a year! We congratulated them both, once we'd gotten over our astonishment, and teased Rose ULLMANN all day. She took it all in stride, of course: I've never seen her without a smile on her face._

 _It's sweet news like this that reminds me that come death, disease, or misery, life simply goes on. Those of us who witness human mortality on an almost daily basis must jump on the occasion every time there's anything remotely worth celebrating. Otherwise, I'm afraid we'd wallow in a despair so deep, we'd never get out._

 _Still, the Ullmanns' happy news feels a bit weird to me. I truly am delighted for them, but to have someone work beside me, assist me during operations, discuss patients' conditions with me, and not to know she was with child this whole time! And that her husband would be fine with her working! Not that Dr. Ullmann would stand in the way of her progress, but he that he wouldn't mind exposing her to all the dangers that come with a medical career..._

 _Times are changing, I suppose. Women are free to do as they want, make their own choices in life. I should be glad for the equality, but I'd be lying if I said I was entirely comfortable with the notion. It's been a man's responsibility for so long to manage his family, to make the hard decisions, to provide. If this is taken from men, what is left to define our role in marriage?_

 _I'm starting to understand now why you said you would never marry. I am disgusted at myself for thinking this way. Of course, women must not be considered inferior to men. We have female doctors here who are just as qualified as men, and it boils my blood to see them treated with only a fragment of the respect (and of the pay, for that matter)._

 _Still, I wish you would find your happiness one day. From your written accounts, all of our friends are in the family way, or getting there. Don't you want your own chance at happiness? A family, someone with whom to share the holidays? I can see it now, a boy and a girl, both redheaded and adorably freckled, with an insatiable curiosity, a penchant for adventure, and a real talent for mischief...don't you want that, Carrots?_

 _I imagine I've ruffled you sufficiently for a four-paged letter. I would go on and apologize for another two pages or so, but I'm afraid I've not the time - the results from the samples I've requested are in, and after my shift is done, the board will be interviewing candidates to fill in Rose ULLMANN's position. I can usually get out of hiring sessions, but the director has requested my presence specifically - said he wanted to have a word with me afterwards, probably - hopefully - about my research._

 _Write me of Avonlea. Have you seen my parents lately? Mother says that Dad is feeling better, but I wish he'd taken another week of rest before returning to the farm. And how are the Keiths? Please give Dora my regards. Any news of Davy?_

 _Please, do not trouble yourself over a gift for me. I need nothing, and spend little enough time in my own room that I don't get to enjoy my few possessions here. But if you really want to give me something, do consider sending me that latest chapter, the one you're guarding from me for whatever cause._

 _Your chum always,_

 _Gilbert_

* * *

 _December 8, 1892  
_ _Green Gables, Avonlea, PEI, Canada_

 _Dear Gilbert,_

 _I'm very glad that you found my latest scrapes amusing, and not the least bit sorry that Douglas is punishing you for laughing at my expense. Please send him my regards, and do extend my congratulations to Rose Ullmann for her wonderful news. I wish her and Dr. Wilburn all the best._

 _And no, I do not wish a child of my one, leave two: I have no interest in the 'family' life, not in a world where women are expected to choose between children or a career. We may be freer than our mothers, and have more options than they had, but women are still not free. Can't you see? We still yield to the law of man. Do you honestly believe men are defined by ruling their wives and children?_ _And another thing: you protest the unjust treatment of female doctors. How about nurses, maids, nannies? Is their work not so important, that they would deserve respect as well?_

 _I hope all is well, and that you are healthy and happy. If there really is to be another epidemic through Christmas, your parents will be terribly disappointed. Please stay safe, and let them when you might be able to visit._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Anne_

* * *

 _December 10, 1892  
Left side of the bed, the small bedroom upstairs, Green Gables, Avonlea, PEI, Canada, Earth, Universe_

 _Dearest Gilbert,_

 _I apologize for my last letter. You're probably vexed with me - and you are well within your rights to be - but please, don't stay so. We promised not to hold grudges anymore, did we not? That if one of us asks for forgiveness, the other must always grant it. So that's what I'm doing: please, Gil, won't you forgive me?_

 _To be clear, I am not apologizing for what I said. I am not repentant for defending women's rights. I do, however, regret the way in which I did. You expressed an opinion, and I lashed out like a cat. Not only do I admire your frankness regarding your own thoughts and feelings, but it was I who suggested that we could communicate freely, without fear of being judged! I never meant to address you so curtly or uncaringly. For that, I am more sorry than you could imagine. See, I'm not too proud to admit that I am clearly in the wrong, and undeserving of your pardon (though I really wish you would issue it anyway)._

 _I suppose the subject of children is a sore one, but you couldn't have known, unless your mother keeps you up to date with PEI gossip? No, I suppose she wouldn't. Well, the Andrews have welcomed their fourth grandchild to the world, courtesy of Billy. A beautiful baby boy, 6 pounds and 9 ounces, with chestnut brown locks, and his mother's nose (thank goodness for that - imagine an infant with that Andrews' bumpy ridge!). Mrs Harmon is proud as a peacock, and has been giving accounts of the birth to absolutely everyone she runs into. Josie is expecting her second child as well, and has been flaunting her round belly around town. Whenever I see her, she is lurking around the pharmacy with that same smirk that used to infuriate me back in our school days. When she tries it on me now, I simply smile at her and ask about her parents' health: but others passing by take the bait, and then are roped not only into fetching her salts or helping her get into a buggy while she clutches theatrically at her swollen stomach, but also into pretending that they care while she prattles on about her condition - which, by appearances, seems to be a perfectly regular pregnancy._

 _You are not the first to have pointed out that I am the only one of our circle of friends not to have gotten in the 'family way'. Well, except for poor, dear Ruby - and oh, how I feel like throttling those insensitive biddies who'll say, "But even_ she _was engaged, dear!" It's nearly as insulting as when they remind me that I won't stay young forever, that childbearing really is easier before one reaches thirty. And don't I feel lonely in Green Gables? Isn't it time I sell it, or at least marry someone who could help run it properly, instead of hiring seasonal help?_

 _No one seems to accept that I am happy the way I am now. Green Gables is my home, and I am keeping it as best I can. I visit Rachel and your parents, of course, and the Wrights come visit when they can - Freddie and Small Anne stop by after school on occasion, and Diana insists on having me over every Sunday for dinner. The place does feel empty with everyone gone, but I couldn't imagine living anywhere else. And when my imagination fails me, I must cede to reality._

 _Enough about me: how are things at the hospital? Have you figured out what you're up against yet? I really hope it isn't tuberculosis again - I hate to think you in the way of danger. I know, I know, "risks of the job," etc. But please do take care of yourself, would you? I shan't be funny in my letters anymore, if it means Doug would let you sleep in peace. An overworked doctor is of no good to anyone, now, is he?_

 _I hope you are quite well, and give you permission to be as cross with me as you wish in your next letter - so long as you forgive me in the end, I shall endure it. If you haven't done so already, please write your parents and tell them when you might be able to visit. Your father is well, but let it not be Easter before they get to see you again._

 _Your dearest (and have I mentioned 'very sorry'?) friend,_

 _Anne_

 _PS: The gift enclosed is not the manuscript you requested (you might have guessed as much judging by its size). I'm still rewriting the chapter, and I'm not sure I'll ever be able to share it. If I ever do manage to perfect it, you may find it when it is published with the rest of the_ Tales.

* * *

 _December 22, 1892  
_ _The chair with the leg that wobbles, Kitchen, Green Gables, Avonlea, PEI, Canada, Northern America, Earth, Universe_

 _Gilbert, dearest,_

 _Have I offended you? I can't help but think that I have. It's been nearly two weeks in waiting for your reply. I know that the mail might be delayed by snow and ice, but surely not this much. I did apologize, Gil, did you not receive my second letter perhaps? Or was it not enough? If that is the reason for your silence, I'll apologize again._

 _Then again, you might be very busy. Have you identified the disease yet?_ _I know epidemics tend to keep your hands full, but after the fright you gave me (gave us all) during the tuberculosis break out last year, you swore you would always write at least once a week, to let us know you're well. Please make good on your promise, put me and your parents at ease by giving us news._

 _With only three days until Christmas, this will not reach you on time, but I feel I ought to say it anyway: Merry Christmas, Gilbert. I hope Doug lets you get some rest (wish him merry Christmas for me), and that you manage to find many things worth celebrating over the holidays._

 _Here is my new chapter - it is the only copy, so please treat it with care. Don't show it to anyone else, and keep it out of reach of hungry cows, please._

 _Your best friend, and soon to be twice-published author,_

 _A. B. Shirley_

* * *

December 24, 1982

Anne Shirley barged into Green Gables, disheveled and fuming. Couldn't she have one day that wasn't marked by catastrophe? she simpered. Just one single day, without making a mess with her signature clumsiness. Was it truly too much to ask?

She stomped into the foyer without removing her boots, leaving a trail of sludgy snow prints on the floor, adding them to her ever-growing mental checklist of things to clean up. Once in the washroom, she bent toward the looking glass to inspect her face: the Anne reflected back to her was a bit muddy, and her cheeks blazing red with hot anger, but no bruise was forming (yet). Still furious, but a bit relieved, Anne shucked her disgusting clothes and filled the tub with the heated water left over from this morning. It was tepid - she'd make do.

As she scrubbed herself vigorously, Anne felt her temper rub off with the muck. She wasn't to blame, and neither was Portia: cows, regardless of how elegantly named, would remain cows. And they would go about their business, relieving themselves wherever they so chose. And if Portia had chosen to defecate right at the barn entrance, and that due to lower temperatures, said leavings had been frozen, well, that was just nature's idea of a winter prank, wasn't it? And if Anne had stepped on said trap and suffered a wipe out, it would serve as a lesson to pay attention to where she was going, rather than daydreaming while walking. A lesson she'd hoped to learn years ago, but was still having difficulties mastering.

The bathwater, which hadn't been very warm to start with, cooled rapidly: Anne finished her ministrations quickly, and wrapped her shivering form into a bath sheet. She was in the process of getting dressed when a rapid series of knocks at the door made her start: was she running behind already? She'd promised the Wrights she'd be over for supper, but the sun hadn't even begun to set...

The urgent knocking resumed, and Anne hurried toward the door, fastening the last collar buttons as she walked, dodging the melted puddles of snow her boots had left behind.

"Diana!" she exclaimed, recognizing her friend through the screen door as she swung it open. "I didn't see the time go by, am I late?"

"Oh, Anne!" Only once Diana had cried those words, did Anne notice her friend's misery.

"Diana, what is it? What happened?" Her arm went numb with fear. "Is it - the children? Fred?!"

The beautiful, devastated woman could only shake her head as more tears spilled rapidly down her face. Anne's chest heaved now with shallow breaths. She knew something was horribly, horribly wrong. She didn't know how, but it had something to do with the way Diana was looking at her, and reaching to grasp Anne's arm tenderly with a shaking hand. She knew, unconsciously, that the look of pain in Diana's eyes was for _her._

"What is it?" she asked again, ice infiltrating her veins. "Tell me, Diana," she commanded - or begged, or both: she couldn't tell. "Tell me what happened!"

Diana's quivering lips pursed, and she sniffed through her tears. "It's Gilbert. He died this morning."


	2. 1892

December 26, 1892

 _This isn't happening. It's a nightmare. This isn't real._

The thought floated back to the surface of Anne's mind as she sat in the Blythes' parlor, listening to Mrs. Blythe talk through her tears.

"The telegram only said he'd taken ill," she moaned. "I thought, since I was at the post office already, I might as well use the telephone to call the hospital. The first doctor passed me to a second doctor, and _he_ said nothing...asked me to wait, never said why. So I had to sit at the post office... I _knew_ something was wrong! I _knew_ , and when they called back, it was the director - of the hospital - to say that he'd passed away early that morning. My little boy, all alone at dawn... I should have insisted that we get that telephone installed! Gilbert kept saying...but John didn't-"

Sobs choked her, preventing her from saying anymore. Anne threw an imploring look at Diana, who rose from her seat: the friends switched places, and Diana took her turn by Mrs. Blythe's side, laying a comforting hand on the inconsolable woman's shoulder.

Thus relieved, Anne exited the parlor to follow the sound of chest-wracking coughs up the stairs. From the doorway of the master bedroom, she took in the sorrowful sight of Mr. Blythe lying on his bed. His body was weakened by the cold he hadn't been able to shirk since October: on top of that, he had aged ten years in the past two days. Loss was taking its toll, fading what little brown was left in his hair to a dull gray, making his joints creak, and every one of his gestures looked as though it might be his last.

Anne approached the poor man and took his hand in hers: it was iced. She pulled a second quilt over him, knowing it wouldn't do much good - it was a chill that came from the inside. She'd felt it, too, after Diana had come to Green Gables to deliver the news. Ice had flooded her veins, her limbs had gone numb, and her insides filled up with pure horror. Needing to expel it, she'd screamed like she never had before. Something awful bubbled up from her stomach, slashed her chest as it rose, clawed at her throat and came out in a frightful wail. It felt like vomiting sadness. Diana held her as she yelled and cried, until the sun went down and the sky turned dark.

 _It's not real. It's a nightmare. Not happening._

She was aware of very little other than her own anguish that night - the buggy ride from Green Gables to the Wrights' farm passed in a blur of tears, and she'd been tucked away quickly in the guest room. Diana was in and out, helping her change into a borrowed nightshirt, bringing tea that was left untouched, replacing handkerchief after handkerchief. It was only when Anne heard the children's voices downstairs that she remembered it was Christmas eve, and she ordered her bosom friend out of the room, insisting (tearfully) that she was fine, and that the goose wouldn't carve itself.

"That's Fred's job," Diana had smiled tentatively, brushing Anne's forehead with the back of her hand. "I'll bring up a tray, and we can have supper here, just the two of us."

Anne shook her head and blew her nose. "Go, be with them: I'm not hungry. I'll probably fall right asleep." Diana eventually relented, and Anne spent all night muffling her cries with her pillow.

 _It can't be real. It's not real. It's a nightmare._

By Christmas day she hadn't slept, and looked like a wreck. Not wanting to worry her hosts, she'd endured breakfast, eating the bare minimum that would appease Diana, and followed them to church. It was suggested that maybe she would rather stay at home and rest, but Anne had declined the offer, thinking that perhaps the service would provide some distraction. She realized her mistake when Rev. Allan asked the congregation to offer a special prayer for the Blythe family: she'd had to shove her way off the pew, causing a commotion as she ran out and let the heavy church door slam loudly behind her. This time, it was not sadness, but actual vomit that spewed from her. Fred came out to ask if she was alright: and when she wouldn't come back in, he'd sat with her on the cold steps, listening to the hymns from their serene perch.

After that fiasco, there was no convincing Diana to let her return to Green Gables, no matter how much Anne begged. This meant another night of stifling her sobs into the mattress of the spare room, but sometime between three o'clock and the rooster's crow, she'd fallen asleep. Come morning, she'd mostly gotten a hold of herself, enough to go make herself useful with the Wrights. She and Diana were to stay with Mr. and Mrs. Blythe, while Fred went to fetch some relatives at the station: the doctor and his wife from Glen St Mary would be the first to arrive.

 _This isn't happening._

Mr. Blythe's body convulsed with another fit of coughing, and Anne had to coax him back down into a lying position on the bed. Whatever pain she'd felt, his must be worse, she reasoned, though it seemed unfathomable that anyone could hurt that much and survive.

* * *

December 29, 1892

The port was surprisingly full for such a cold day: people covered their mouths and noses with their scarves, hunching their shoulders against the icy gusts that blew gently over the chilled sea. Anne barely registered the cold, focusing all her attention on the incoming ferry, the one that was bringing Gilbert home. Her body tingled in excitement, as if it hadn't yet understood what her mind already knew: that her chum would not be standing on the deck, spotting her in the crowd and winking at her.

Despite the reminder from her brain, her heart hammered as passengers disembarked. She half-expected him to run up to her and hoist her over his shoulder like a sack of grains, or to sneak up on her from behind and steal her hat, holding it up tauntingly beyond her reach. Joyful reunions occurred all around her, though none as scandalous as Gilbert's - he'd loved creating a scene and embarrassing her when he came home to visit. She would yell at him and fight back, and he knew that she was just pretending to be cross in order to egg him on - but she hadn't told him how much she'd enjoyed his teasing. Now, he would never know.

As the crowd thinned in front of her, Anne gained a better view of the last few stragglers walking off the ramp. She spotted a man whose face was as pale as hers, and knew him immediately. It didn't matter that she'd never met him: she would have recognized him anywhere, having received such accurate descriptions of him in Gilbert's letters. And even if she hadn't, she would have identified him by the grieving air that matched her own.

She made her way toward him, wading against the current of people eager to get home. Before she could call out to him, his eyes found hers, and a smile almost effaced the sadness on his face (but not quite). He approached her in three big steps.

"You're Anne? Anne Shirley?" His lilt tipped the pitch up to indicate a question, but she felt that he'd recognized her as effortlessly as she had.

"And you're Mr. Sheehan."

"Doug, please. Thank you for driving up here - I'm sorry you had to wait in the cold."

"It's no trouble. I should be thanking you for..." she let her sentence taper off, and both their small smiles faltered a bit. "Shall we?"

They headed for the area where merchandise was being lowered off the ship. "I had to use the largest crate I could find to disguise the shape, or they wouldn't have let me on board. There it is," he pointed to a crate easily the size of three men. Anne went to untie her horse so that she could bring the cart closer, and watched as Doug got two men to help him lift the impossible burden, paying a handful of coins to each of them once it had been secured with rope.

"Alright," he dusted his hands, slightly out of breath, turning to her. "Shall we?"

Anne snapped out of her trance. "Yes! Sorry. Mrs. Blythe will have turned in for the night already, and Mr. Blythe hasn't been well, but his aunt is staying with them, she will have some supper ready for you." She clacked the reins, and glanced briefly at him.

Other than being portlier and a little bit rounder than she'd pictured in her mind, he was just as Gilbert had written. He did, in fact, have _"_ _the body of a bear and the strength of one, too."_ An intimidating sentence, that had then been tempered: _"for all his massive bulk, he wouldn't harm a fly."_ Anne supposed that on a regular day, _"big,_ _round brown eyes that give him an air of perfect innocence"_ would be accurate, though there was a deep sadness there, too, that gave his otherwise babyish traits an air of maturity. _"A face so freckled, it looks like a seeded roll"_ was not a very kind description, though she couldn't refute it. Of course, Gilbert wouldn't have been Gilbert if he hadn't followed with: _"And I haven't told you the best part: his hair is so orange, one can't stare at it too long without going blind. He would give you a run for your money, Carrots!"_ This was how he had introduced his housemate in one of his first letters from Prince Albert, and she had responded with a warning not to upset them, lest they should form an allegiance and retaliate. Since then, nearly every letter included a brief salutation from one redhead to the other.

"Was it difficult? The journey?" she asked to fill the silence, noting the way he glanced at her, appraising her in a similar way.

"Traveling would have been an issue on any other day," he answered. "Seeing as it was a holiday, everyone was eager to get home - I was able to pay the fee without too many questions asked." He sighed. "The worst part was getting his body released. I might not have succeeded, if it wasn't for his will."

Anne turned so sharply, she nearly fell off the cart. "He had a will?"

Doug nodded, unfazed. "He made sure all his papers were in order. Most of us do. We witness too many deaths, on a daily basis, not to be prepared."

He'd gone weeks without writing her, or his parents, letting them all stew until they were sick with worry, but he'd taken the time to draw up a will? She processed this new information silently, semi-aware that Doug was studying her. "You can stop staring. I'm fine," she snapped rudely, still reeling from the shock.

"Well. I see what he meant about your temper," he said evenly.

"Excuse me?" Anne straightened like a snake posing to strike.

He merely grinned. "Ah, and there's the famous nostril flare! He did warn me about that, too."

"Mr. Sheehan!" she seethed, though a part of her couldn't help but be pleased that Gilbert had talked about her - as embarrassing as the subject had been. She tightened her grip on her fleeting anger and went on. "It is one thing to share informal pleasantries through a letter, but another one altogether to be so familiar when we've barely met."

Doug didn't have the grace to even feign an air of being contrite: he set a pudgy hand over her gloved one, mindful not to disturb the rein, and looked right at her, unperturbed by her rigid posture and arctic glare. "I've known you as long as I've known Gil," he said. It was odd hearing the nickname from anyone's lips but hers - for some reason, it gave her a thrill to hear him say it. The ice in her eyes melted, and she nodded.

"Yes," she agreed. "He wrote of you enough that I feel I know you as well."

"He spoke of several people," said Doug, removing his hand and turning back to face the road. "Parents, friends - but no one as much as you."

Tears welled up in her eyes so suddenly, she'd had to pull the horse to a stop. Crying had been as natural (and nearly as frequent) as breathing these past few days, but she'd wait until she was in the privacy of her room. Her meltdown at Christmas had everyone talking already, and sobbing while driving with a stranger would not help matters.

Some deep breaths later, she blinked the tears back and turned to Doug. "Thank you. For saying that," she clarified needlessly, annoyed that her voice wobbled.

"So...are we friends now?" he asked, his big brown eyes pleading earnestly. "Or should I watch out for slates coming near my head?"

His laughter only intensified when she didn't succeed in shoving his heavy frame off the cart, grating her nerves raw. It wasn't until they'd reached their destination that she realized: she hadn't felt this disgruntled since Christmas eve.

* * *

December 31, 1892

Few were in attendance at the graveyard. The busybodies who made a habit of inviting themselves to such functions under the guise of "supporting the community" were celebrating the last day of the year with their own, and others had deemed themselves unfit to stand out in the bitter cold. As a result, the solemn party was limited to Mr. Blythe sitting in his wheelchair, Mrs. Blythe clutching the handles to keep herself upright. They were flanked by the seven relatives who'd been able to travel on short notice: the only other family present was the Wrights, little Freddie and Small Anne the only children around. Doug's bright head stood out like a flame - his was the only one, since Anne had put her hair up and hidden it under her fancy black hat.

After the funeral, Diana had offered the use of her guest room once again, but Anne pointed out that she'd already made her miss out on too much time with the Wrights and her own parents. "I'll be fine. And I promise to call the Bells if I need anything." The Bells, who owned the farm next to the Wrights', would relay a message quickly, though Anne had no intention of contacting anyone tonight. Diana would be relieved, she had barely had a moment alone with Fred this past week.

Anne also declined the invitation to join the Blythes for the dinner Mr. Blythe's aunt and Mrs. Blythe's sister had prepared. The small crowd dissipated, and Doug lingered until they were the only ones left standing. Neither spoke, except to thank the reverend when he wished them a good new year.

She stared at the freshly piled earth. There was no gravestone, and there wouldn't be for a while. Until then, Anne didn't think she would ever believe that the casket in the ground was Gilbert Blythe's. "He would have hated this," she muttered absently.

"I'm glad I wasn't the only one who found it abysmal," Doug sighed in relief. "I don't know where the Reverend got his eulogy - he didn't even read any of the verses Gil requested."

Anne found herself almost smiling. The speech had indeed been so stiff, she hadn't shed a single tear. "Rev. Allan has been reading the same funeral rites as long as I've been here, down to the punctuation." She glanced at his round face curiously. "He requested verses?"

Doug shrugged. His grin was pained and half-hearted, but he didn't elaborate. "Will you be alright?" he asked. "I can walk you home, if you'd like."

"No, thank you." Unable to say anymore, she waved at him and walked away.

Instead of going down the Avenue, Anne headed toward the woods. Everything was still in her winter wonderland: trees frosted in a thick coat of powdery snow, icicles hanging from branches. No animals, no birds - no noise, except for the crunching of her boots on the frozen ground. It was so still, so quiet, like death. It wouldn't be so bad, she decided. To be left alone, in peace. And she certainly could do without the sadness that suffocated her. Finally, she could be rid of the unbearable pain.

Could she? Perhaps not. She couldn't stab herself, or hang from a tree - she wasn't capable of violent gestures on other beings, couldn't even behead a chicken: she definitely couldn't end her own life brutally.

Barry's pond was frozen: no chance of drowning, then. If she lay down on the ice, how long before someone found her? Long enough for her to die of cold? One night should do the trick. Heck, she didn't even need to go as far as the lake: the stream beside her was frozen solid. She could hide here, and be dead by morning.

"Ho, there's a cheerful thought."

Anne spun around, and her heart stopped. Gilbert leaned against a tree, his arms crossed, smirking impertinently at her. "Well? Aren't you going to say anything?"

She gaped, unable to speak, unwilling to blink. It was him, for sure: she'd know that voice anywhere, and that cap perched over his brown curls...she hadn't seen it in years. As a matter of fact, his entire outfit seemed outdated. The light blue shirt, brown pants...and didn't his face seem more youthful? His cheeks a bit fuller, his lopsided grin a bit more carefree? Anne realized that this was Gilbert from their school days. Her knees buckled, and she fell into a sitting position, barely registering the cold ground under her.

"You're dead," she said out loud.

He chuckled. "So, what's your excuse for being out here, all alone on the eve of the new year?"

"I'm allowed to be by myself if I please," she said bitterly.

Gilbert merely shrugged. "Alright, I'll go, then."

"No!" she called to his retreating form. "Please, stay!"

Mercifully, he turned around and walked back to her. "This is nice," he said, sitting next to her. "Much better than sitting by the fireplace in Green Gables, warm and toasty."

"I can't go back," she explained. "It's so..."

"Empty? So go somewhere else. My parents wanted you over for supper, remember?" he pointed out. She sighed. "Ah, I don't blame you for not wanting to go - my Aunt Ida made her famous salmon pudding. Nasty stuff," he faked a shudder. "What about Diana? she invited you over to celebrate with Fred's parents, did she not?"

"She's already missed Christmas taking care of me, and I was starting to scare the children."

"I can hardly blame them. You look like death warmed over." He smirked at her, and she tried to punch him, but her arm wouldn't move. All her muscles felt stiff from the cold. "Seriously, Anne, what are you doing, feeling sorry for yourself?"

"How could you say that?" Her temper flared. "I'm not the one who lost a son!"

His expression was not at all amused. "No, you lost a good friend. Or maybe I didn't mean that much to you."

Tears warmed her frozen cheeks. "You meant the world to me, Gil."

"Five years of cold shoulder and two turned down proposals isn't exactly the legacy of a beautiful friendship," he said, his teasing grin back in place. It only served to make her cry harder.

"I wasted so much time," she sobbed. "We could have had had so much more..."

"That's life," he shrugged. "You only have one go 'round in this world, and your choices define how you'll live it. I'm not saying this to make you feel worse," he cut her before she could interrupt. "I'm trying to help you, so listen carefully, Anne: you're not dead yet. You still have your life, you have Green Gables, and people who care for you."

"But I need you," she whispered, her voice cracking.

"You'll be fine," he said, though he sounded a bit uncertain of it. "Tell you what: I'll check in on you next New Year's eve. Now, get a grip, Anne Shirley. You have so many choices to make ahead: and frankly, lying face down in the snow seems like a pretty poor one, from where I'm standing."

How was her face half covered in snow? She didn't remember lying down...and why was he standing? _Don't leave,_ she tried to form the words, but she couldn't make her mouth work. He must have heard her, though, because he knelt down beside her and rested a warm hand on her cheek.

"Don't worry, you're not alone. I'm right here."

* * *

 **OriginalMcFishie : Thank you! The address thing is something my cousins and I did when we were younger and wrote each other (yes, physical letters with stamps and all). **

**AnneFans** **: Here it is, sorry for the wait!**

 **elizasky** **: I hope this chapter has sealed some of my sloppy cracks! I was very emotional when I was writing the intro, and didn't think through some of the logistics.**

 **Kate** **: I will eventually expand on his cause of death - most likely in the following chapter!**

 **oz diva** **: Um...I didn't research this epidemic history very well, so I might write it off as a false alarm. Hopefully this story will be good enough that sloppy mistakes might be forgiven. And I will bring up Marilla eventually!**


	3. 1893

January 14, 1893

"Are you sure you're ready to be on your own, dearie?" asked Mrs. Harrison.

"I'm sure," said Anne, thinking she'd never been surer of anything in her life. She sat by the stove, watching the sweet lady put the finishing touches on supper.

"You know, it's really no trouble for us to have you here. I just hate to think of you, living all alone in that huge place..."

"I'll be fine," she forced a smile. "I can't thank you and Mr. Harrison enough for all your help with Green Gables. And for letting me stay as long as I have already."

"Oh, that's nothing, really. We hardly get any visitors anymore, now that our James started his own family in New Brunswick. I suppose It's selfish of us to want to keep you longer," the woman chuckled at herself. "Still, you might come over after church one of these Sundays, for dinner?"

"That would be lovely, thank you." Anne's smile was now genuine, but she would never actually follow through with the invitation.

Not that she wasn't grateful for the kind, older couple taking her in. In fact, she suspected it had been a strain on them: she'd been brought in after Mr. Harrison found her in the forest, 'frozen through' as Mrs. Harrison put it. It took eight days for the fever to break, and for her to understand where she was; another two days for her to gain enough strength to sit up. Now that she'd been on her feet for two days, she was itching to get out of here. Sleeping all day and all night was very nice, but the constant surveillance and fussing from Mrs. Harrison and old Dr. Porter was rendering her claustrophobic.

A sniff caught her attention, and she pushed off her chair to stand by the woman who'd cared for her. Anne hated to cause her any distress, but her need to leave surpassed everything.

* * *

Anne waved at Mr. Harrison as he drove off that evening, nearly collapsing from relief when he was out of sight. Finally, she was alone. Green Gables was even tidier than she'd left it: Diana had come while she'd been unwell to clean. Anne would have to send her thanks, and also to Fred for taking care of the animals. And to the Harrisons, and Dr. Porter.

On the kitchen table, there was a parcel with two notes. The first was in Diana's handwriting:

 _Anne, Darling,_

 _Do not think that you're off the hook. You gave me the fright of my life, and not even the fact that you recovered miraculously well can make me forgive you so easily. At least, not until you do some explaining. I will be expecting you over on Saturday for supper. Fred will give you a lift when he's done helping with the barn, and you will tell me everything. I hope I have made myself clear._

 _Mr. Sheehan stopped by on the 2nd while I was tidying up the place. I told him you were unwell, and wished him a safe trip in your name. He left a parcel and a note, which I've placed on the kitchen counter. He didn't mention its contents to me, and I couldn't bring myself to ask, but do have care opening it, won't you? If you feel you are not ready, it can wait. Take your time._

 _Your pantry is stocked, and there is a dinner pie on the sill (you might heat it up in the oven, it'll probably be cold by the time you arrive). If you do not eat, and die of starvation, I will rise you from the grave so as to throttle you with my own bare hands. Let that be your warning._ _See what you've done to me? I've gone gruesome and violent. If mother could read me now..._

 _Take care of yourself, Anne, or at least let us._

 _Yours,_

 _Diana_

Anne tossed the note aside: if this is what Diana thought gruesome and violent meant, she hadn't a clue what went on in Anne's mind (and they would keep it that way for now). The second note was addressed to _Miss Shirley,_ and read:

 _Ann,_

 _It is with regret that I must leave Prince Edward Island without being able to say goodbye in person. Unfortunately, I must return to work immediately._

 _Enclosed are two items Gilbert would have wanted placed in your care. The will_ _only mentions his books, to be donated to medical students on scholarships, and his clothing, which will be distributed to the less fortunate patients at the hospital. Before I deal with the rest of his belongings, I wanted to inquire whether you would like to keep something of his?_ _Should you be able to travel to Saskatchewan, I would gladly meet you at the train station, and you could peruse his room yourself. I wish I could deliver his things in person, but no one can be spared from the hospital at the moment._

 _Please, do let me know if I can ever be of any assistance or comfort. In the meanwhile, I wish you a complete recovery._

 _Yours respectfully,_

 _Doug Sheehan_

Curious, Anne opened the parcel: though the shape of it was rather obvious, she was still surprised to find the last manuscript she'd sent Gilbert - the chapter she'd been too hesitant to share, that had arrived too late. She wondered if he'd read it, and prayed for a moment that he had.

The second item fell from the packaging material, and hit the floor with a soft clink. She bent and picked up her locket: the one Gilbert had stolen one summer day, years ago...

Anne fed both notes to the fire, and went to do the same with the manuscript - but decided to lock it up in her drawer upstairs, instead. She found a chain for the locket, and fastened it around her neck, and went downstairs to lock the doors for the night.

* * *

February 20, 1893

"Your lungs sound clear, so that's good," declared Dr. Porter. "Still..."

"Yes?" asked Anne, buttoning up her dress.

The old man seemed to hesitate. "No doubt the fever took its toll. I'm glad we were able to prevent it from developing into something graver, but...with recent events...there are other, er, factors, which might be slowing down your recovery."

Anne blinked. "Factors?"

He took her hand, and she resisted the impulse to yank it away. "It's normal to feel some grief," he said tenderly before schooling his features into something harder. "But too much can be as detrimental as a disease. Your weight isn't what it's supposed to be, and judging by your color, I'd guess you're not getting enough rest, either. So you _will_ eat, and I will prescribe you something to help you sleep."

Finally, her hand was realized, and several promises to take better care of herself, Anne was able to usher the doctor out.

* * *

April 7, 1893

"We ask God to keep our brother, John, in his care..."

Anne inhaled deeply, and stared carefully ahead. The sight of the freshly dug hole was upsetting, but not quite as horrible as the grave next to it. She would not cry, though: Diana was watching her from the corner of her eye, ready to pounce at her slightest blink. If one single tear passed her eye, Diana would drag her to Lone Willow and keep her hostage there.

The final prayers were spoken, and people slowly shuffled into a sort of queue, waiting to pay the weeping widow their respects. The turn out this time was much bigger: the same people who couldn't be bothered to attend Gilbert's last day above ground, were now whispering amongst themselves, passing the time until it was their turn to express their sympathies to Mrs. Blythe.

 _Hypocrites,_ Anne thought, but let go of the bitterness with a sigh. Ruby's funeral had been the same: beside her family, almost no one had gone. It was just harder to accept the mortality of the young and beautiful, than that of someone who'd lived a full, long life.

"...merciful way to go, they said," Mrs. Sloane's voice floated over to where she was standing. "He just lied down one night, and wouldn't get up the next day."

Something clicked in Anne. She already knew that Mr. Blythe had passed in his sleep. It was the way Mrs. Sloane had phrased it that made the gears in her mind shift: _wouldn't get up._ Not _couldn't_ or _didn't_...

A notion came to her mind, and slowly developed into an idea.

* * *

June 18, 1893

Anne watched the sunlight fade from between the leaved ceiling of her woodland cathedral. She was lying on her back, in the exact same spot by the creek. Squirrels dashed about, and the occasional bird flew by. She stayed past dark, listening to the fauna change guards, wishing she could find a reason to keep enduring the sadness that consumed her.

* * *

November 1, 1893

The cold was coming in. The barn was full of hay. Soon, there would be nothing left for her to do in the fields. No more physical exertion except keeping the log pile stocked, but there was only so much wood she could chop for herself.

Maybe she would volunteer to chop some for the Harrisons.

* * *

December 31, 1893

Anne sat in her finest green dress, her hair plaited carefully. On her desk were six pills, lined up in a row. A glass of water would help expedite them on their way down.

 _Here it goes._ One pill. She shuddered.

Two. The shudder wouldn't leave her body. It turned into a violent shivering.

Three. She was almost out of water, already: better take the remaining three all at once.

"WHAT are you doing?!"

The voice made her drop the pills from her palm. A wail of anguish escaped her throat.

"How could you?" Gilbert fumed.

"I can't go on like this!" she half-screamed, half-cried, desperate for him to understand. "It hurts so much."

"How do you think Diana will feel when she finds you?" he yelled back. "It could be days before anyone finds you. Do you know what death does to a body, Anne? When you stop living, your insides start rotting. Have you seen what maggots can do to a corpse? Because _I have_!"

This was Doctor-Gil, Anne realized, and not only by his lecturing. He was wearing his white doctor's coat (the one he'd modelled for her before leaving for Prince Albert), and his prized stethoscope, the one his Uncle Dave had gifted him as a graduation present, hung from his neck. Even though he glared angrily at her, she found him quite dashing.

"This is cowardly and selfish, Anne Shirley, and you know it." He picked the scattered pills up from the floor and examined them. "Barbiturates. Very nice. Where did you get these?"

Anne's cheeks colored with shame. "I got a prescription from Dr. Porter. To help me sleep."

"And?" he asked coldly. He knew, and she knew he knew.

"And," she continued in a small voice, "I, uh, borrowed some from your mother's pantry. She said she didn't want them, Gil!"

"You stole!" He pounded the desk with his fist. "You steal from my mother, you lie to your friends...I have no idea who you are anymore."

"I haven't lied to my friends," denied Anne.

"No? Maybe this will sound familiar: 'I'm fine, Diana! I'm eating plenty and resting well. No, Diana, I would never dream of walking out at night by myself. I'm not feeling lonely or suicidal.' Ring a bell?"

"I'm not suicidal!"

"No?" He shoved the last three pills in front of her face. "Then what are these for, then?"

"I'm so tired of the people I love leaving me," she whispered, her voice failing her. "My parents, Matthew, Marilla...you. Do you know how it is, to lose everyone who matters to you?"

"And so your answer was to be the one to leave this time, so you wouldn't be left behind? You don't care about the hurt it will bring Diana, as long as your own pain is alleviated. Or what it might do to my mother, were she ever to learn how you did it..." Gilbert's scowl turned sad. "You know, you're the only person who still visits her, other than Aunt Katherine? Sure, the ladies' aid society brings her dinner once a week, but they don't actually stay and ask how she's doing." Gilbert sighed. "It would devastate her, and many others."

Tears burned her eyes, her nose ran uncontrollably. "I miss you so much, Gil," she choked. "I don't know how to live with this."

He took her in his arms. "Then ask for help," he whispered in her ear. "Diana, Fred. My mother, Aunt Katherine. The Harrisons. When did you last pay a visit to Mrs. Lynde? Rachel is still alive - getting up there in years, though. My point is," he pulled back and gripped her by the upper arms, "that you have many people who care very much about you. And no one ever said you can't make new friends. All you have to do is reach out."

She sniffed. "No one can replace you."

"They won't. But don't let me be the last person to see you alive. Please, Anne."

"Alright. I won't." She wiped at her face with her sleeve, and stumbled a bit. "Oh...fuzzy..."

"That would be the barbiturates. You took three times the normal does, it'll hit you like a ton of bricks. You should be fine, though, just sleep it off."

"Stay with me?" she asked, tripping onto the bed. "Please?"

"Until you fall asleep."

Her eyelids felt impossibly heavy, but she forced them back open. "Gilbert?"

"Hm?"

"I'm so sorry about your father."

"I know. Thanks."

Sleep was claiming her. She fought for one last moment of clarity. "Gilbert?"

"I'm still here."

"Promise you'll come visit me on the new year?"

"I promise."

* * *

 **Apologies for being so vague in answering some of your reviews. Your questions are excellent, and I can't respond in full because for the first time, I actually know the end! I usually just type and see where the story takes me, but this time, I have an actual ending in mind, so I have to make sure not to give away too much. Many thanks for reading adn reviewing!**

 **oz diva** **: Thank you! As you can see, Gilbert's appearance has changed in this chapter. You've pointed up some relevant details, on which I cannot elaborate without spoilers. More to be revealed in 1894!**

 **NotMrsRachelLynde** **:** **Thank you so much for giving this a shot! elizasky's Within a Forest Dark is one of my favorites. I'm sorry this chapter had to be so dark - I promise there will be happier times to come! I try to make my stories as real-life as possible: not fairy tales, but not 100% misery either, with a romantic twist on things. Hope you keep reading!**

 **OriginalMcFishie** **: Thank you for reading on! I like Doug, too - he's one of my favorite (and only) created-from-scratch characters. I will try to flesh out Anne/Gil's friendship a bit more, especially the aftermath of the proposals.**

 **AnneFans** **: For now, it seems to be on the New Year's Eve. For the future, who knows? Thanks for reading!**


	4. 1894: January 2 - June 4

January 2, 1894

Anne woke up early. She heated some water for a bath, used what was left to make tea. Boiled two eggs, grilled some leftover bread. As a breakfast, it wasn't very impressive, but still the most food she'd had in one sitting since Christmas, and certainly the finest meal she'd made herself in over a year.

After quickly clearing up the kitchen, Anne went up to her bedroom and sat at her desk. A fresh sheet of paper was pulled from the drawer, and she held her favorite pen, its weight comfortingly familiar in her hand. Her eyes fell on the inscription, _A. B. Shirley._ She wondered if Gilbert knew, when he'd presented it to her for her birthday five years ago...

Sitting up straight, she began a list. On paper, the tasks ahead seemed less daunting. It would take some effort, but Anne had never shied from work.

* * *

 _January 2, 1894  
Avonlea, PEI_

 _Dear Davy,_

 _How is everything in Gaspereaux? I hope that you had a pleasant Christmas with the Hodgsons, and that the New Year finds you happy and healthy. Dora wrote a few months back, then again on Christmas: things are getting serious between her and the young tutor, by the sounds of it. I'm sure this is nothing new to you, surely she's written you all about it._

 _But I don't mean to pry - if I write, it is to ask you to consider returning to Avonlea. The farm is getting to be too much for me to handle on my own, and it is lonely here. I'm not trying to guilt you into coming back permanently, I just need some help to get through this spring, and perhaps summer as well. If you could extend your stay until the end of fall, I'd be so grateful. And if you were to stay even longer, even the written word couldn't express how much happiness you would bring to Green Gables._

 _Please, do not send me your hard-earned wages. The sum you sent last year is set aside: you may collect it when you return, or I will save it for you until you need it. It is not monetary help I require, but your physical presence would be appreciated._

 _All my love,_

 _Anne_

* * *

January 4, 1894

"Auntie Anne! Auntie Anne! Are those for us?"

"Hello, darling! Some of them are for your Mama and Papa. Here, give me a second." Anne shifted awkwardly, trying not to drop any of the wrapped packages in her arms while Freddie ran for his parents, exclaiming "Auntie Anne is here!" at the top of his shrill, six year old voice.

"Well, this _is_ a surprise!" said Fred somewhat sardonically. "What did you do, rob a toy store?"

"And a candy shop." She craned her neck, trying to peak around the stack of boxes obstructing her view. "Be a gentleman and take some of these, would you?"

The pitter-pattering of little racing feet made Anne tighten her grip on the parcels. Somehow, she kept them all balanced as a child latched on each side of her skirt.

"I lost a tooth, Auntie Anne, see?" Small Anne Cordelia tugged on her skirts, at the same time as her mother asked: "Anne Shirley, what is the meaning of this?"

"Let me set these down, my sweet, and I'll have a good, close look," Anne chose to address the easier-to-please member of the Wright clan first.

"Children, go finish your milk, Auntie Anne will be right over after she and Mama have a little chat." Recognizing _that_ tone, Fred quickly took the pile of presents and brought them into the parlor, deciding that it was best to stay clear of his wife.

"So," Diana crossed her arms and stared expectantly. "Trying to buy your way back into the family?"

Anne had the good grace to look sheepish. "If it'll work, then, yes."

But Diana was not to be mollified so easily - not by humor, anyway. "You barely said a word at Christmas."

Anne bit her tongue, knowing that she would be cued when it was her turn to speak. "You barely said anything to anyone all year. The whole town is asking me about you, and I don't have a clue what to say! My husband wakes up an hour earlier than he used to to make sure your fields don't turn into a jungle, and he doesn't know any more than I do! My children, _your_ godson and your namesake, have been asking why their Auntie Anne doesn't ever smile or tell them stories anymore."

Anne waited an extra ten seconds to make sure she was done before speaking. "I'll make it up to them. And to you. I know I've been a bad friend." She hadn't expected to choke up so soon, and swallowed past the familiar lump in her throat. "I had the worst year of my life, Di. It's been so hard."

Diana cocked her head. "Harder than losing Marilla?"

"A thousand times harder." She shook her head. "Marilla was sick for a long time. I had a year at least to prepare. It was very sad, and very hard, but she'd made peace with it. Plus, there were...factors..." Diana's face softened, and Anne knew she was on the right track, so she kept the truths rolling. "There was no warning for Gilbert. One day, everything was fine, the next, he was gone. I needed him, as much as I need you."

Diana thought for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Alright. I'll let it pass, on two conditions. No more skipping Sunday dinners - you have a seat at our table, and you better use it."

"Fair, except - don't look at me like that! I was only going to ask for a pass this week, I'd like to visit the Harrisons. I've been putting off their invitations for a long time, and I think they're really lonely."

"Well, that's fine, I suppose," said Diana, bemused. "Alright: second condition."

"Say no more: it's in the white and yellow striped box-" Diana raced to the parlor, and Anne shook her head with a grin. She knew the secret to obtain her bosom friend's forgiveness: all it took was a heartfelt admission, and salted caramels.

* * *

 _January 29, 1894  
White Sands, PEI_

 _Dear Anne,_

 _Thank you so very much for your visit last Saturday. Mother was giddy with happiness all week, she'd missed you so. She has spoken of you often since Miss Cuthbert's passing, and asks about the Keith twins once in a while. Even though she might have seemed a bit distracted, do know that she was very touched that you'd thought of calling on her. Now, she is pleased as punch - finally, something new to brag about at her quilting club!_

 _Included is a shawl she's been working on for you since you left. Her eyes aren't quite what they used to be - but it should keep you warm enough nevertheless._

 _Again, thank you for bringing Mother such joy. Please do not feel obliged, but she would love to see you again soon: as would I, should I happen to be in the area._

 _Cordially,_

 _Hannah Lynde_

* * *

 _February 2, 1894  
Gaspereaux, PEI_

 _Hello Anne,_

 _Sorry for the late reply. Your letter was held at the post office - if you send me mail, make sure to address it care of the Hodgsons._

 _As much as I'd like to, I won't be coming back to Green Gables. I wish I could, but I can't leave my job at the factory. I'm saving up so that I can buy some land, and Millie and me can get her father's consent to get married. It'll be another two years at least since I can save enough, I'm behind as it is, and Millie is patient, but she won't wait forever._

 _Maybe you could come visit. Gaspereaux is fine, but it's no Avonlea, that's for sure._

 _Millie sends her regards. I do, too._

 _Davy_

* * *

February 6, 1894

She sat on her spot beside the frozen creek. The cold air bit at her face, urging her away, but she wouldn't leave. Instead, she positioned herself at the same angle as that night, and stared at the tree against which Gilbert had been leaning.

* * *

February 13, 1894

Anne nudged the black hen to the side, and quickly grabbed the guarded egg before her hand could be transpierced by the merciless beak. Her basket wasn't as full as it had been when Marilla ran the place. Maybe she ought to start speaking to the hens again? That had worked, or at least she thought it had...

"This is why I got a B.A.," she chided herself. "To learn how to talk to chickens." She shook her head as she arranged the eggs carefully in the cupboard. What had happened to the ambitious, scholarly Anne? She'd set aside her ambitions to learn ancient languages, to read all the most important books ever written (and some less important ones), to bring her writing to the new level. It had been enough to stay in Avonlea, in order to be with Marilla, though even then she hadn't abandoned the pen completely: there had been many nights of writing by Marilla's bed, dampening the candlelight with a book so that it wouldn't disturb her. No, her writing had only come to a screeching halt when Gilbert Blythe had departed this world.

Anne tugged at the chain around her neck and took the locket in her hand, as she did every time she thought of him. Her heart still ached over the loss of her chum, but she found herself forgetting things. Important details, like the exact shape of his hands; the way he threw his head back when he laughed at something particularly funny; the warmth of his chest when he pinned her against him, ruffling her hair with his free hand until it stood in a tangled, static mess. She screwed her eyes shut, and tried to remember: but her efforts were in vain, and she had no way of getting those memories back, no matter how tightly she clung to them. She was forgetting, and she hated it.

Suddenly, she stood up, catching the open door of the cupboard with her knee, but barely registering the pain: of course! It was so obvious: _t_ _he remedy for forgetfulness is studying._ How many times had she given her students this very lecture, during her school teaching days? This was the solution! Anne Shirley, B.A., would study.

And with that thought, she bolted up the stairs, leaving behind a basket half-full of eggs, and an open cupboard.

* * *

 _February 27, 1894  
Royal Hospital, Prince Albert, SK_

 _Miss Shirley,_

 _We regret to inform you that due to patient confidentiality rules, we are unable to satisfy your request. Information regarding current patients is only given with explicit consent, and the files that you request have not been validated with a release form._

 _Regards,_

 _L. Ashleigh, Secretary, Records & Files_

* * *

February 28, 1894

Anne woke up with a start, her eyes adjusting to the lack of light, heart racing. She'd dreamed of Gilbert - they'd been dancing together, but already the image of his face was dissipating in her mind...and then, he'd been violently ill, lying in bed, and his father was crying...

Wiping the tears from her cheeks, Anne got dressed in the dark and headed out towards the forest.

* * *

 _March 1, 1894  
Gaspereaux, PEI_

 _Dear Anne,_

 _If you really mean it, I'll come right away. Do you mean it, for real? The factory is awful, and I'm getting nowhere with the lousy pay._

 _Yours,_

 _Davy_

* * *

March 3, 1894

"Just a bit more won't hurt you," insisted Mrs. Harrison, placing a thick slab of meatloaf on Anne's plate.

"Thank you," Anne smiled warmly at the woman who seemed to love fussing over her.

"James used to love my meatloaf, you know. He'd eat it so fast, I used to have to warn him to slow down, or he'd get a bellyache!"

"It really is delicious!" complimented Anne, enjoying the way Mrs. Harrison beamed at her.

"Oh dear, I best go check on the pies. It's been so long since we've had any real company - beside James, when he visits with his wife and children, which is never - I'm afraid I've forgotten to allot time for the pie to cool down!"

Mr. Harrison waited until she was in the kitchen, then leaned forward to whisper in a conspiratorial whisper: "James can't stand the meatloaf. Used to feed it to the dog, when she wasn't looking. I've never quite acquired the taste for it myself, but seeing as we don't have the dog anymore..."

Anne stifled down a laugh. "I think it's delicious," she challenged the grandfatherly man, shovelling a large forkful in her mouth.

Mr. Harrison's mouth twisted in a grin to match her own: "That's nice of you to say, but I know a whopper when I see one."

Anne chalked the incident that followed up to poor timing and bad table manners - it would be just her luck that Mrs. Harrison would return to the dining table just in time to see her choke into her napkin. Still, it was worth it to hear Mr. Harrison slap his knees and roar with laughter.

* * *

 _March 6, 1894  
_ _Gaspereaux, PEI_

 _Dear Anne,_

 _I will be on the Sunday morning train to Avonlea. Don't bother coming to the station - just hide the keys where you used to, if you go to church._

 _Yours,_

 _Davy_

* * *

 _March 9, 1894  
Royal Hospital, Prince Albert, SK_

 _Miss Shirley,_

 _If the information you request pertains to a former patient, you will need to address your request to the Hospital Archives & Filings. _

_Regards,_

 _L. Ashleigh, Secretary, Records & Files_

* * *

March 11, 1894

"I'd love to have you back, that's the truth," admitted Mr. Rowan, scratching his bald head. "But you see, now that Abby's father is doing better, she's been able to put in more time... I'm afraid there wouldn't be that much for you to do. I couldn't take you at full time. But if you're in trouble, I'm sure we could think of something."

"It's not about money," assured Anne. "I'll always be grateful, for all your help when Marilla was sick. But this is different. I just...need something to do. And to be able to set something aside, a little bit would be enough. Davy's come back to help me with Green Gables, and...well, the boy eats."

Mr. Rowan chuckled. "Come in tomorrow morning, we'll figure something out. Get you reacquainted with the sorting room."

"Thank you! Oh, thank you so much!" The man blushed to the top of his crown when she pressed his hand.

"Any time, Anne Shirley!" he called as the spirited young woman fled from the post office.

* * *

March 15, 1894

Anne knocked at the door, and waited for Davy's "come in" to enter.

"Are you sure you want this room?" she asked, sitting on the edge of the bed he was occupying. "You could stay in your old room, if you want."

"This one's fine."

"Alright. So, how is Millie?"

Davy grinned. "She can't wait to come to Avonlea. Her father's a real bear - he won't let her do anything."

"Well, I'm sure he just wants what's best for her," Anne grinned back. "Even though I disagree with his methods, I suppose he might feel protective of his daughter. It's hard to let go of the people we raise."

Guilt formed on his face. "I'm not sorry I left. I had to, Anne."

She smiled tolerantly. "Alright."

The young man flopped back on the bed, and sighed. "Stop being nice, and just scold me already."

"Why would I do that?" she asked.

He shrugged, and buried himself under the covers. "Because I left you all alone," came his muffled reply. "Because I didn't want you to have to take care of the farm and me and Dora all at the same time."

"You know I would have loved for you to stay," she said quietly.

"That only makes it worse," his words filtered through the comforter. "Marilla was supposed to get better. You were supposed to move to the big City, and find a publishing man."

"Publishing house," Anne corrected with a wry smirk. "Davy, Marilla was very sick, and in a great deal of pain. It was her time to go, and she was relieved in the end."

"Was Mr. Blythe in a lot of pain, too?" he remained under the covers to ask, and she suspected he might be crying.

"He was sick for a while, as well." She ran her hand over the lump which she thought might be his leg.

"No, I mean the younger Mr. Blythe."

Her hand froze. "Gilbert?" she asked, and the spot where his head hid nodded. "I don't know," said Anne slowly. "I'm trying to find out."

* * *

 _March 18, 1894  
_ _Royal Hospital, Prince Albert, SK_

 _Miss Shirley:_

 _In order for your request to be submitted, you will need to provide the patient's_ _dates of admission/release to the hospital, as well as the patient's birth certificate or baptism record. Once we receive the aforementioned documents, we will be most happy to assist you._

 _Regards,_

 _Llewellyn C. Richards  
Royal Hospital Archives & Filings_

* * *

March 19, 1894

"Thank you so much for doing this, Anne. I know how busy things are at Green Gables."

"It's no trouble at all," answered Anne from where she crouched in the flower bed. She wiped her brow with the cleanest part of her forearm, balancing the small spade in her dirt covered hand. "Davy's pulling most of the weight, and Fred Wright and Mr. Harrison still help."

"That's nice," said Mrs. Blythe smiled absently.

"There," said Anne, standing up and brushing soil from her skirt. "I believe every weed has been slain."

"Shall we have our tea indoors? It's getting mighty drafty out here."

Anne felt not a single breeze, but agreed anyway. When people stopped by the post office and asked her about the widow, Anne would say that she was doing much better, thank you for asking. She wouldn't share that there were some moments, just little ones, when Mrs. Blythe seemed to remember all at once that tragedy had struck twice, and that she wasn't supposed to be happy. Other times, she would start feeling, and even seeing things that weren't there. Those times were worse: they usually passed as quickly as they came, but were horrible to witness.

"How is Davy enjoying Green Gables? John used to love having him help at the farm. Mind you, I'm glad to have sold, I could never manage on my own - I do miss seeing him in the fields, though."

Anne nodded and devoted herself to pouring the tea. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask, but for all the times she brought up the subject of John, Mrs. Blythe seldom spoke of Gilbert. That loss was too fresh, still. Anne could sympathize with that all too well.

Maybe she could just find it and borrow it: the Blythes didn't have a study, they kept all their documents in a single cabinet, in the bedroom.

 _You stole? From my mother?_ The accusation echoed in her head, and she abandoned the idea immediately, feeling no small amount of shame. She could call it borrowing all she wanted, it would still be despicable of her.

"Mrs. Blythe, I..."

The woman looked at her expectantly, and Anne simply couldn't shatter the temporary peace in her eyes. "...I, uh, have always admired this china pattern. Is it a family set?"

 _Tarnation_. She'd have to find another way.

* * *

 _April 3, 1894  
Glen St Mary, PEI_

 _Dear Anne,_

 _How nice it is to hear from you! We are so glad you are doing well. This past year has been hard on everyone, what with one bad thing following the next, but I fear that your own pain might have gone overlooked amidst everyone else's. It's so good of you to write us, and let us know you are well._

 _Sarah says that you've been visiting more frequently since the New Year. Thank you for that, dear. It assuages my guilt to know that someone can be there when I cannot - Uncle Dave is at the peak of what he calls 'baby season', and I don't want to leave him, especially not when he's driving out at all hours, rain or shine. I simply cannot go to bed until I know he's home safe. Take my word for it, don't marry a doctor: I'm afraid_ _if you do,_ _you might never sleep through the night again._

 _Of course, Uncle Dave would be happy to write the Hospital for you, dear - but he is concerned about your motivation. Are you certain you need to see all this? I understand you and Gilbert were close friends, but what do you hope to gain from the details? There is a high chance that the cold, hard facts are awful, and would look worse on paper. So we ask: do you truly wish to know?_

 _I hope to come visit Sarah in Avonlea soon, though I'll have to wait until things slow down at the Glen. Do take care, Anne dear, and write us as often as you wish!_

 _With love,_

 _Aunt Katherine_

* * *

 _April 19, 1894  
_ _Royal Hospital, Prince Albert, SK_

 _Miss Shirley,_

 _We were unfortunately unable to process your request. In order for patient files to be released, you must submit the original birth certificate. If none has been issued, a baptism record can be submitted in its place. You will also be required to submit proof of parentage - your own birth certificate would suffice. _

_Regards,_

 _Llewellyn Richards  
Royal Hospital Archives & Filings_

* * *

 _April 30, 1894  
Royal Hospital, Prince Albert, SK_

 _Miss Shirley,_

 _All information pertaining to our past patients is strictly protected under our confidentiality regulations, and can be released only to immediate family (parents, children and spouses), upon request and with proper documentation provided._

 _Regards,_

 _Llewellyn Richards  
Royal Hospital Archives & Filings_

* * *

 _May 14, 1894  
Royal Hospital, Prince Albert, SK_

 _Miss Shirley,_

 _It is unclear to me whether you hope to obtain information from a current patient, former patient, or an employee's file. In either case, a_ _ll hospital employees' information is confidential, and sealed unless requested by another hospital or licensed caregiver. All patients' information can only be released to blood relations and spouses._

 _Regards,_

 _L. Ashleigh, Secretary, Records & Files_

* * *

June 2, 1894

"I'm so sorry to dash off like this - I've only managed to secure the travel arrangements today," Anne apologized.

"We usually hit a lull, this time of year, anyway," Mr. Rowan dismissed with a wave of his hand. "Go, have a safe trip."

"I'll be back in ten days!" Anne promised, and hurried out to the buggy, where Davy was fidgeting impatiently.

"You sure you want to do this?" he asked dubiously as they drove a bit faster than was reasonable.

"You're the one who wants me out in the big City," Anne nudged him with her sharp elbow. "I'll call when I get there, alright? Don't forget, you have dinner with the Harrisons-"

"On Sunday, I know. Sheesh. Stop worrying."

"I will if you do. Keep your eyes on the road."

* * *

June 4, 1894

Anne's heart hammered as she stood at the reception desk. The sweet woman - young girl, really - with the chestnut eyes and hair to match had asked her to wait just one moment, if it was not an emergency. She'd said that she would be with her as soon as possible, but that it might be a wait, and wouldn't she have a seat in the meanwhile?

Anne would not sit, could not sit. The place was larger than she'd imagined - taller ceilings, and a lot less white. Nurses rushed about, twenty-ish people in various states of injury waited on a row of chairs against the wall, but she saw almost no-

"Doctor!" the young brown-headed girl at the desk called to someone over Anne's shoulder. "I was just about to call for you. There's a child with a splintered leg in room 4- oh! I didn't make the connection! This must be your sister! I would have recognized you straight away, if... I didn't even realize, or you could have waited in his office! I'm so sorry."

Confused as to why the receptionist seemed to be talking to her, Anne blinked and turned to look behind her.

She found herself staring at the large, familiar bulk of Doug Sheehan. The man blinked back, and then his confused look morphed into a devilish grin.

"Hello, sis."

* * *

 **AnneFans** **: Excellent point. So far, he shows up on the New Year's eve - can't say more without spoiling!**

 **elizasky** **: I don't think Anne ever really gave it an honest try, the second time in June, the first time on New Year, or even this time with the pills (though certainly, that was the closest). I think she might want to call out for help, but couldn't go about it normally at the time. Excellent points about the haunting - can't elaborate now, but very astute observations!**

 **OriginalMcFishie** **: You're right - Diana would have been furious, and I think very hurt. Gil is not altogether gone yet - still invites himself over on New Years' eve. I don't think I could have bared to obliterate him completely.**

 **Guest** **: Sorry, didn't mean to offend! And not following a trend. So far, Gilbert is not entirely gone, though...thanks for reading!**

 **slovakAnne** **: Thank you! Gil and Anne's relationship will definitely be explored further.**


	5. 1894: June 4 - June 10

June 4, 1894 (cted)

"Sister...?" It dawned on Anne what Doug was doing, and she backtracked, horrified. "What?! No, I-"

"You should have waited at the train station, like I asked you," said Doug lightly as though she hadn't spoken. "I see you've met our Kate, who keeps this place from falling apart. And this," he tugged at Anne's arm as a brother would, making her stumble, "is my baby sister, Nan. I'm going to get this troublemaker out of the way - cover for me, gorgeous?"

The young receptionist's mouth twisted skeptically, but her eyes shone with amusement. "Oh, alright. Be quick about."

"You're a doll," he said, already dragging Anne toward the exit. "By the way, Travers just clocked in - see if he can take care of that splinter, won't you?"

"You're incorrigible, Dr. Sheehan!" Kate called after him, and he blew the girl a kiss (the nerve!) before turning the corner.

Anne tried unsuccessfully to wrench her arm from his beefy hand. "What the-"

"Shut it," he grit out discreetly from the corner of his mouth. Only once they'd left the premises and walked twenty paces did he relinquish his tight grip on her upper arm. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Me?! _You_ just lied to that girl-"

"It didn't occur to you to let me know you were in the area?"

Her outraged faded a bit, but not completely. Diana had suggested she do so when she'd learned of her plans, but Anne hadn't found it necessary. She hurried to keep up with Doug's giant steps, lest she lose him around the street corner. "I won't be staying long," she explained, catching up. "I'm not here on a social visit. I came to-"

"I know what you came for," he interrupted again. "As do my boss, some colleagues, and basically the entire administration. If they so much as hear your name, you'd be escorted out in a much less gentle way." He threw a humorless laugh over his shoulder. "What, did you think you could just waltz and demand his files? I know this is a difficult concept for you to grasp, but confidentiality is a big deal over here. Our patients' privacy is respected and protected, and that goes tenfold for doctors. Here we are."

He moved the side of his white uniform coat to retrieve a set of keys from his pocket, and unlocked the door in front of which they'd stopped, in a smaller alleyway. Anne quickly stepped inside before he could lay his large paws on her again, and followed him up the stairs, into a large room.

As a living space, it was rather simple: a bed in the corner, a desk in the other. Shelf, wardrobe - no frills, no trinkets. "I haven't gotten around to decorating," he explained, and she was fairly certain that he was joking. "It's basic, all the essentials. Make yourself at home, just...don't touch anything." He glanced at the clock and sighed. "I better go before they notice I'm missing. My shift is over in a few hours: you better be here when I get back."

x-x

It was a tired Doug who'd returned later, to find Anne quite at home in his seat, one of his books in her lap. He walked up to her and plucked the novel from her hands, reading its spine: _The Adventures of_ _Tom Sawyer._

"That was Gil's," he said tiredly, tossing it back on the desk and shrugging out of his doctor's coat.

"I know," she answered. "I gave it to him last year."

"For his birthday: I know."

She stared at him. "How do you know _everything_?"

His smile oozed of exhaustion. "I saw the inscription."

"Oh." She'd forgotten the note she'd scribbled to Gilbert inside the cover.

Doug passed an enormous hand over his tired eyes, and ruffled his red curls. "I know we should talk, but I'm running on the two hours of sleep I got yesterday. Do you have a place to stay?"

"I was going to get a room at the inn by the station..."

"That place isn't fit for rats." He stifled a yawn, and sat heavily on the bed, the mattress audibly groaning under his weight. "Stay here. I'll find you a decent place tonight. Just let me get some shut eye, alright?"

"You want me in here...while you sleep?" she asked incredulously.

He crawled under the covers and wriggled about, as if trying to scratch an itch that was hard to reach. "Unless you have somewhere better to be." He stopped moving and tossed something out from under the blanket to the floor. She thought she might scream when she realized it was his flag-sized shirt. "If the snoring gets bad, I have some cotton balls in the top drawer."

Beet red, Anne stayed frozen in spot, unable to move.

x-x

She breathed in and lifted her head from the crook of her arm, disoriented. She didn't recall falling asleep sitting down...

"Good evening to you." The voice made her start, and she fell from the chair with a squeak. Doug rolled his eyes and finished buttoning his collar. "And I was worried about _my_ snoring bothering _you._ "

"I wasn't snoring," said Anne quickly, standing up and brushing down her skirts. "I don't snore."

"You got anyone to verify that for you?" he challenged, making her cheeks turn from rosy to crimson. "Get yourself straightened out. We're going to dinner."

It might have been the fact that she'd fallen asleep at the desk, too petrified to disturb the snoring fat man; or that he'd ordered a plate of corned beef and cabbage, and 'the same for her'. His choice of venue - a dank and creepy tavern that smelled of beer and smoke - certainly did not help. Either way, Anne was feeling particularly crabby by the time their food was placed in front of them.

"So. Suppose you tell me what exactly you hope to accomplish," invited Doug as he heaped a generous dollop of mustard over a forkful of meat.

Repulsed, Anne straightened in her seat and cleared her throat. "I need to get Gilbert's files."

"I gathered as much," he said, tucking into the boiled cabbage with obvious pleasure. "What I'd like to know is what you hope to accomplish with said files."

No one in Avonlea had questioned her interest in Gilbert's medical history. After all, they'd seen her do something very similar the first time his life had nearly been claimed. That Anne had become as knowledgeable about typhoid as their dear Dr. Porter hadn't struck anyone as odd. How could she explain her inability to rest until she understood what had happened?

"I have to know," she said simply.

Doug set his silverware down and wiped his mouth, and something dark suddenly permeated the air. "And if I told you he didn't want you to see his records?"

Anne's jaw dropped. "He said that?"

He leaned back, sustaining her gaze. "He didn't want to upset you. Said you had a tendency to get fixated on his health. That's why he never told you about any of the times he got sick."

His words were a punch to her gut. "What other times? How many?"

"It's a hospital," his fist punctuated the statement on the table. "Do you have any idea how many forms of contagious disease we see on a regular basis?"

Reeling from the shock, Anne grasped for a thread of sanity. "He would understand that I need to know." This, she believed to be somewhat true, at least. Gilbert had never discouraged from her academic interest in medicine.

Doug picked up his fork and twisted it in his hand, inspecting its tines with remote fascination. "I would give anything to unknow what I do know."

He was about to give in, she could tell. She stayed still and remained quiet.

"Alright. I'll see what I can do. Are you going to eat that?"

* * *

June 6, 1894

Anne was sitting in the same exact spot she'd occupied two days ago. Much like the first time, the dimly lit tavern was mostly empty, with the exception of a few scattered patrons. The barmaid was laughing with a customer at the counter, and the occasional yell resonated over the sounds of chopping and pots clanging drifting in from the kitchen. Not lively, but alive.

The rented rooms upstairs offered a similar atmosphere. Doug's own description had sounded less than promising to her: _not the cleanest, but certainly the safest, and definitely affordable._ That last part turned out to be a farce: after their dinner that first night, he'd arranged for her to be given a room free of charge. From the little conversation that had taken place with the owner, she'd inferred that he and Doug were acquainted.

Anne wished she could have waited at the hospital. Doug had forbidden her to even come close to the premises, and she'd only complied because of the harried look on his sleep deprived features. Still, to be standing where Gilbert had stood... to see where he had worked, saved lives, laughed with colleagues, was like feeling his presence again. Had he given the pretty Kate at reception his lopsided grin, made her blush with a compliment to get away with something? Had he shaken Dr. Ullmann's hand in congratulations over the good news of a baby, once and for all? Her thirst to know him grew with every minute of being here.

Well, not exactly this spot. Anne couldn't imagine Gilbert setting foot in such a place. Or had he? Would Doug have dragged him here after work, for a plate heaped with meat and cabbage? Had he been the kind of man to need a pint of ale after a gruelling day's work?

Doug interrupted her musings by walking into the establishment, and Anne briefly wondered if it was possible for him to go anywhere without making an entrance: what with chairs scraping the floor noisily to allow his large bulk free passage, and the flamboyant red which glowed like a torch when his hat was removed.

"Afternoon," he greeted, sitting down heavily across from her.

"Evening," corrected Anne primly.

"Yeah, sorry about that. My last patient had a severed thumb. I got sprayed with blood and thrown up on: had to bathe and change before I could go anywhere. Oy, Lill, how 'bout a coffee over here?" he called to the barmaid, then turned back to Anne. "You want one, too?"

Disgusted by the unnecessary details, Anne shook her head.

"Suit yourself." Doug leaned back in his seat, making the smallish chair groan under his weight. "Sorry I couldn't linger yesterday. Are you well settled in?"

"Yes, thank you." Though the idea of not paying for her stay still felt wrong, her concerns had been somewhat abated by the size and cleanliness of the room. "It was very generous of your...uh, friend, to accommodate me."

"He owes me a favor," Doug explained.

"I see." Anne would have protested, but she knew that a decent room somewhere close by would cost more than she could easily afford. "Well, I am grateful. So, have you got-"

"No. And I won't."

"You said you would try!"

"I did try. Thanks, Lill, you're a gem!" he smiled saucily at the barmaid, who rolled her eyes as she set a crude mug in front of him. "The files are sealed, Anne. They'll stay sealed for another year, then they'll be either classified or destroyed."

"Destroyed?" Her face fell, as well as her heart. "But - I've come all this way..."

"I know, what a waste of time." Doug took a long drag of coffee. "Nothing here for you except for the files, right?"

"But without them-"

"Without them, how would you know anything that happened to Gilbert?" Doug finished for her. "After all, it's not as though you know anyone who would have firsthand accounts on what happened to him, or who stood by him while he drew his last breath." There was no bitterness in his voice, nor any sign of rancour on his face, but still, Anne felt a chill of disappointment emanate from him somehow.

"Doug..." She didn't know how to continue, and he wouldn't look up from his steaming beverage.

"It was bad," he spoke after a brief silence. "I can speak of it some, but I won't go into detail."

"Was he in much pain?" Anne ventured quietly. His grimace said it all. "How long was he sick?"

"Few days. Hospitalized for three."

"What was it?"

"High fever. Probably something else piled on top, but no one could figure it out in time. It was the fever that did it in the end."

"Was he..." she gulped, and tried again. "Was he aware of what was happening?"

"He was mostly lucid, the little time he was awake."

"Did he say anything?"

This time, his eyes met hers. "He asked me to look out for you. And his parents. Good thing he won't know what a poor job of it I've done."

"Mr. Blythe's health was already poor." Touched by his torment, Anne reached for his hand. "It was only a matter of time."

"I was supposed to make sure you were cared for. As it stands, I've let you cave in on yourself for an entire year, ill with grief. And another half year running around like a madwoman, obsessed with the darn files."

Anne pulled her hand back, surprised. "How did you know that? Who's been telling you?"

"I have my sources." His smirk held no humor.

Anne frowned. "It's Diana, isn't it? She's been writing you?"

"Mrs. Wright, you mean? I haven't had any contact with her, not since I ran into her at your place the day after the New Year."

"Who, then? Surely not Mrs. Blythe?"

"We keep in touch. I send her a monthly allowance, but she doesn't say much in her letters."

Anne frowned: who else could it possibly be? Shaking her head, she set aside the matter for later. "Why would he ask you to keep tabs on me? Why not someone from the Island?"

"Because, as much as I wish he hadn't, he trusted me. He knew you would be lonely, even with people around you. And... he wanted us to be friends, you know. I mean, he laughed at our barbs in the letters you two sent each other, but he kept saying we would get along, if only we were given the chance." His lips twisted grimly over his mug, and he drank another sip. "I thought he might have been right when we first met in person, but after the funeral, you'd dismissed me completely, so, maybe not."

It was true: after his note, the one Anne had burned, she hadn't given him a second thought. The couple of times Diana had brought him up, Anne had easily brushed aside the idea of contacting him, and that had been as far as her mind had gone.

"I'm sorry I didn't write," she said. "Don't take it personally, you're not the only one I shut out. I wasn't talking to anyone at all, at the time."

"And when you started snooping around the hospital? Was I so unworthy that you needed to harass the entire administration staff, but you couldn't let me know you were traveling all the way here?" Again, there was no outward display of negativity, but she could sense his displeasure.

Anne blinked. "Not at all! I- it has nothing to do with- you're wonderful. As a friend, of Gilbert's, I mean, a wonderful friend to him," she stuttered. "I just...honestly, it simply didn't occur to me."

His eyebrows raised. "Well, that's a first. I'm not usually a forgettable person. I mean, my size usually leaves a solid impression, both literally and figuratively. I'm used to people running away in fear or disgust. Being forgotten is a novelty, I'll need some time to get used to that."

On this pronouncement, Doug stood with a great screech of his chair and tossed some coins on the table. "Well, this has been delightful, but it's time for me to go get my beauty sleep. Ask Lill or Patty if you need anything. I'll check in on you before you leave."

Anne watched in a stupor as he saluted the maid at the counter and exited. The second her mind caught up with what he'd said, she scrambled out of her seat with a screech of her own chair, and ran out after him.

"Doug! Wait!"

She didn't think he would, but the man paused and turned around. She raced towards him and tugged at his forearm.

"Please, I didn't mean it like that," she panted, out of breath from the sprint.

"I think you did," he cocked a single eyebrow at her, giving him an amused air.

"You're not forgettable. You were close to Gilbert: few people were. You probably knew him better than I, in the end."

"No one knew him like you did." His statement felt too bold for their setting, and so was her grip on his sleeve, but she knew this was more important than propriety at the moment.

"You said he wanted us to be friends?" she pressed on. "Then let us be friends, for his sake."

His stare seemed to penetrate her soul. Anne let go of him, embarrassed, and glanced away.

"Deal." He extended the arm she'd just released, his hand engulfing hers as they shook on it.

"You aren't cross, then?" she asked, glad to have her hand back as they walked down the street.

"Cross? Nah. The way I see it, you just saved me another three years and a half of begging and grovelling. Isn't five what it takes to be friends with you?"

Several heads turned when he laughed loudly, easily dodging her swings aimed at him.

* * *

June 9, 1894

"The spot's right here," Doug pointed to the flat landing on top of the hill they were climbing. Anne was embarrassed to be as winded he was: after all, she didn't carry nearly as much bulk around her chest and waist as he did. Then again, hers _were_ constricted by a corset. Still, the short hike shouldn't have been difficult, especially since it was before dawn, and the early summer air was still pleasantly cool.

"Alright," Anne climbed up onto the platform and turned to him. "Now what?"

"Wait for it." His chest heaved as he stood next to her.

"Wait for _what_?"

"Patience, woman!" he wheezed, still trying to catch his breath. "There: it's starting."

Her gaze followed the direction in which his fat finger was pointing, off into the distance. She looked around, wondering what she was supposed to see. A faint, yellowish glow lined the top of the pine trees.

"A sunrise?" she asked, puzzled. When had Gilbert become so sentimental? He'd grown up a farmer's son: for him, sunrise had been synonymous with the beginning of chores, and was more dreaded than revered.

"Give it a minute." Doug's panting was a bit more controlled now, though perspiration from their previous exertion beaded his brow.

Anne brushed some loose twigs and dirt out of the way, and cleared a spot on the rocky terrain to sit down. If she was going to be stuck up here for a while, she might as well get comfortable.

Alright, so it wasn't a complete waste of time: the scenery below was pretty: a green valley, speckled sparsely with white flowers. Behind that, it was all pines, tall and dark, as far as the eye could see. She could appreciate the beauty... though perhaps at a more humane hour.

And if this was truly all about a sunrise, she could simply tell Doug that after a year of very little sleep, she'd seen more than her fair share. But he didn't need to know more than he already did - she could tell the he still felt some guilt at not fulfilling his promise to Gilbert, even though it was more her fault than his own.

It happened suddenly: the glow turned intense, and rays of orange and red streaked the cloudless morning sky, gloriously announcing the break of day.

"Goodness," she gaped, barely aware she'd spoken out loud.

"That's pretty much how I felt the first time. I'd just finished a shift, and instead of letting me sleep, he dragged me up here. And then, we made a habit of it. This is where we came to talk. About life, traveling, the future. Quite a bit about you, as it turns out."

She shifted her attention from the slow-rising orb up to Doug, who'd remained standing. "About me?"

He didn't look back at her. "You were on his mind all the time. It always came back to you."

She heard the accusation loud and clear. "He meant the world to me," she said. "Gil was - _is_ the best friend I've ever had."

"He thought of you as more than a friend."

Anne had the uncomfortable suspicion that she was being grilled. "How much has he told you?"

"Probably most everything."

Anne felt an unpleasant, tense knot in her stomach. It was bad enough that the inhabitants of Avonlea had inferred what they could on their own, gossiping about what might have happened: it was another thing to know that someone other than she and Gil had been _told_.

"I can't believe he talked about us." She wondered if maybe Doug was bluffing. The slate story was one thing, he'd loved recounting that one (once they'd gotten around to being friends, at least), but she simply couldn't imagine him retelling the more private moments. Giving up the Avonlea school for her, their talk after the typhoid... Diana and Fred's wedding...

"I have this effect on people," explained Doug confidently. "It's the honest face. Inspires them to tell me all their deepest, darkest secrets." She was fairly certain he was joking, though there was nothing on his face to indicate as much.

"I'll have to leave early tomorrow," Anne sighed. The sun was halfway up.

"Not looking forward to it?" asked Doug as she pushed back up to her feet.

"Not the journey, no." She brushed some twigs and dirt from her skirts. "Two days by train, and then the ferry - well, you've done it. But I'll look forward to having my own bed again: I've had enough of sleeping in strange places for a while. Whatever it was Patty owed you, please thank him for me."

The sky was blue, now, and nearly all the red was gone. A light orange mist was fading out. "I'm sorry I couldn't get you the files."

Anne shook her head. "It wouldn't have changed anything. And..." She breathed in deeply, trying to master the wobble in her voice. "... it was nice to see this place. To feel close to this part of him. He grew up in PEI, but this is where he was as a grown up. Where he made his career - where he might have settled, in the end."

Doug looked as though he wanted to say something, then changed his mind at the last minute, and gestured toward the path they'd taken on their way up.

"Thank you for showing me this place," she said as they began their careful descent, using protruding roots and boulders to keep their footing. "It was really nice of you to show me around these past few days, especially whe-EEP!" Her foot had found a loose pile of gravel, and she felt herself slip down. She collided into Doug's side, grabbing onto his thick stomach to keep from tumbling down the rest of the hill. The man stood sturdy as an oak tree.

"Cripes, Miss Shirley - I'm flattered, but shouldn't we get to know each other better, first?"

She would have wrenched her arms free and smacked him like a windmill, but his grip on her was the only reason she was still upright. Her face radiating with heat from outrage and embarrassment, Anne settled for a kick to his fat leg, which only made him laugh.

"Try not to miss me too much," he said, releasing her once she'd regained her balance.

"Oh, yes," Anne mocked, still discomfited by the incident. "I'll be inconsolable on the boat, weeping over the desolate prospect of my life without you in it."

"Will you come back?" he asked, and suddenly they became serious again.

Anne shrugged. "Probably not. I mean... it won't bring him back, so what's the point?"

Doug's silence neither agreed nor disagreed.

"You don't have to worry about coming to Avonlea," she said. "Mrs. Blythe is doing better - I mean, it's been hard, and sometimes I think she's not quite right - but at least there seasons again."

"Seasons?" he frowned, slowing down his pace.

"A season for sadness, a season for joy. A season for regret, a season for happy remembrance. Not just emptiness the whole year round."

He nodded as though he understood. "I really do have to visit. I promised." He looked up. "Maybe when things here slow down a bit. In the meanwhile, could you write me? Let me know if she's alright?"

"What, you're secret source of information doesn't suffice?" Doug's lips twisted up at the corner, and Anne stomped the ground. "Tell me who it is, already!"

"Not a chance. And yes, they are keeping me well informed - thankfully, because _someone_ was quite rude, and never responded to my message."

"Oh, get off it," she scoffed without any heat.

"Still, I'd like to hear it from you as well. You visit her: let me know how she is doing."

Anne nodded. "I can do that."

* * *

June 10, 1894

"Checking your bag, Miss?" asked the uniformed man at the station.

"In a minute," said Anne, fiddling with the clasp of her travel bag.

"Better be quick about it, we'll be closing the luggage car shortly," he informed her, and strode off to badger someone else.

Anne finally pried it open and rummaged through her things, looking for something she wouldn't have packed. Her hands found the offending item - items, she realized as she pulled them out. A book, strapped with a belt to a heavy wooden box of similar size. The box wasn't familiar, but she recognized the book immediately as Gilbert's copy of R. L. Stevenson's _Treasure Island_.

"Last call for luggage check, Miss," the porter tapped his foot. Anne hesitated for a second before hastily undoing the belt, and stuffing both the belt and the book back in her bag before fastening it shut again.

"There," she said, clutching the box in her hands, barely remembering to accept the receipt he handed her.

"Miss, you dropped something!" he called after her before she'd gotten far. Anne halted her quick steps and turned around, to see the man hold out a folded piece of paper. "It slipped from under that box you're holding."

"Oh." She hadn't noticed. "Thank you."

"No need to rush now, Miss - that was just for the bags. There's still time before passengers' final boarding call."

Yes, but the sooner she could find her seat, the sooner she could open the box that made her heart beat so fast. Couldn't he see that? "Thank you," she offered a small, terse smile before scampering up the stairs into the closest wagon.

The second she'd found an appropriate seat by a window, she opened the note.

 _Ann,_

 _Thought you might like to have these. There is more, but this is all I could fit in your travel case. Next time, bring a bigger bag._

 _Your friend,_

 _Doug_

* * *

 **OriginalMcFishie** **: Thanks! I think the disjointed nature of last chapter reflects how the half-year might have gone for Anne, perhaps. Also, very amused that people wanted Anne to find the files! I almost allowed it to happen, too...**

 **AnneFans** **: Yes, sorry - the word count made me want to split up the chapters. This one is gargantuan already, and only over a week covered! Next chapter will be different, I think.**

 **elizasky** **: Thank you! I'm glad you found this format readable. As it is, I regret not including Anne's replies to Davy's letters - I hope it was clear that he wasn't just changing his mind on his own. Also, more hard subjects to come!**

 **oz diva** **: Thank you! Here is another change of pace - the next chapter might hold yet another format. And, more of Davy to come!**


	6. 1894: June 19 - September 6

June 19, 1894

"How was Prince Albert, Anne dear?" asked Aunt Katherine.

"Diana mentioned you enjoyed it when she last visited," added Mrs. Blythe.

"It was nice," said Anne evenly, cutting off a bite of the rhubarb tart that was being served with tea.

"Such a journey. I didn't like it when Gilbert did it, but it was either that or never see him at all. Neither John nor I could have weathered a journey that long, at our age. And to go by yourself, Anne, without even an escort!"

"It wasn't bad at all," she reassured Mrs. Blythe. "The trains are really safe."

"That's true," nodded Aunt Katherine. "The stations are just packed with employees, nowadays."

"Still," said Mrs. Blythe apprehensively, "to travel unaccompanied to a big, foreign city..."

"Prince Albert is as canadian as can be. It really isn't _that_ big," Anne pointed out. "And I wasn't exactly unaccompanied. Doug Sheehan put me up while I was there."

Mrs. Blythe's teacup dropped back onto its saucer with an accentuated _clink_ of porcelain. Aunt Katherine was either giving her a rapid succession of winks, or developing a twitch in her right eye.

"I mean - he set me up! In a...er, boarding house." Of sorts. "He knew the owner. It was a nice place." Not really, but they didn't need to know that.

"Well, it was...good of him to help you get settled, I suppose," said Aunt Katherine carefully.

Mrs. Blythe nodded eagerly. "He was such a good friend to Gilbert. I'm glad my boy had someone with him, in the end."

Three handkerchiefs were pulled out, many tears were dabbed, and one nose blown. The latter made the three ladies glance at each other and share an embarrassed giggle.

"He writes me every month, you know," continued Mrs. Blythe. "Checks in on me. We barely spoke when he came out here, but he seems like such a sweet person."

"That's debatable," murmured Anne to herself.

"He was charming and polite," agreed Aunt Katherine. "If you had to be looked after, I'm glad it was him. They have a different set of values in the city, you know: boys luring girls up to their rooms, disrobing and Lord knows what else..."

Anne choked on her tea so violently, Mrs. Blythe might have called for Dr. Porter if Aunt Katherine hadn't thought to raise Anne's arms above her head and tap her back. Mortifying as it had been, Anne was grateful she wouldn't have to respond to that last statement.

* * *

 _June 26, 1894  
_ _Prince Albert, SK_

 _Dear Annie,_

 _How good to see you're honouring your promise to write. I knew you would. I was expecting a bit more than a single sheet (I know for a fact that Gilbert used to receive no fewer than three double-sided pages per envelope), but I'll take what I can get._

 _I'm not certain your outrage is justified. When you left your bag in my room, the implication was clear that it was placed in my care. So what if I did rummage through it? (Nice knickers, by the way.) Your argument also smacks of hypocrisy: there was no way of you finding_ Tom Sawyer _unless you'd opened my desk drawer, the one where I keep my personal belongings. Just be glad a novel was the worst you found._

 _Very good of Diana to greet you at the ferry. You needn't have badgered her, though: I've already told_ _you, she's not my informant. Do send the Wrights my regards. How is life with young Davy in the house? Was he able to keep Green Gables running smoothly in your absence?_

 _And while we're on questions: just what is it with you and private documents? I only have one copy of Gilbert's will, and seeing as it is a legal paper entrusted into my care alone, I cannot in good conscience send it to you, or anyone else. I will, however answer any questions you may have (within reason)._

 _And no, the items in the box weren't listed in Gilbert's will. Since you didn't let me know at the time what you might have wanted to keep, I_ _saved whatever I thought might hold sentimental value, and gave away the rest. I'm glad you like the ones I included, and hope you won't mind that I've kept his best pen (I'm actually using it right now). I'm sure you already have a good pen of your own, an author such as the illustrious A. B. Shirley must own a pen so frequently used, it yields only to the shape of your hand. The excalibur of pens!_

 _I've got to get some rest. My last patient of the day was a lady who needed her ingrown toenail removed: a tiresome task on its own, made five times worse by her abnormally rank foot odor._

 _Your friend,_

 _Doug  
_

* * *

July 2, 1894

"...and the chair never left the table again. Together, they lived happily ever after, till the end of time." Anne felt the boy on her lap go limp, and craned her neck to see if he was asleep. It was a beautiful sight: brown lashes upon red cheeks, mouth slack in peaceful slumber.

And a merciful one, too, because Anne was plumb out of ideas. When princes and dragons hadn't sufficed to send her godson to sleep, she'd conjured up a land with maharajahs and elephants, then a happy family of yellow ducks, even a dainty row of garden flowers arguing with the vegetable patch. Her use of household furniture as romantic protagonists was a sure indication that she had exhausted her imagination.*

He really was too big to be carried, but the boy was so calm and warm in her arms, she didn't want to let go: she tried to stand without shaking him about, but found that she couldn't get to her feet without shifting his balance.

"I'll take him," said Fred quietly, emitting a soft _umfh_ at the transfer of weight. "Diana's in the kitchen, she said to join her."

Anne nodded and went to find her friend, who was sitting at the table austerely, a pile of frames in front of her.

"Are you sure you want to see this?" she asked sombrely.

Anne nodded vehemently. "Please, show me."

Diana scrutinized her carefully, then sighed. "Fine, have a seat. Let's get this over with."

"Come on, Di, this isn't a chore, something to rush through. We're revisiting childhood memories."

"It's morbid," Diana pouted.

"It isn't, I promise. Please, Di, _please_! I'll put Freddie to sleep every Sunday for his afternoon nap - for a whole month. I'll read the Lady's Weekly with you for the rest of the year. I'll attend Fred's parents' Harvest Fest."

This earned Anne an eyebrow rise from her dark haired counterpart. The Harvest Fest was a huge deal: all the inhabitants of the area were invited to the Wrights' farm, and nearly everyone attended it. There would be actual harvesting for the farmers and whoever wished to participate: but also hayrides, potato sack racing, a baking contest, sometimes ponies for the children to fawn over.

"You would come to the Harvest Fest," said Diana slowly, in a way that made Anne already regret saying so.

"I would," she promised all the same.

"You, who haven't attended a social event since...in almost two years."

"One year and a half. And yes, I will spend the entire day at the Wrights, I will come early and help you set up the tables, now can we please get started?"

Diana bit her lip hesitantly. "I'm worried about how badly you want this, but...alright." She handed her friend the first frame, and watched worriedly as wide green eyes devoured the photograph.

"Here! This one," Anne pointed triumphantly after a while. Diana peered at the rows of children arranged in front of the Avonlea school, and nodded. Anne sat back and smiled, admiring the little boy she'd selected in the second row. He stood with his hands behind his back, sticking his little tummy out, a close-mouthed grin wrinkling his nose and creasing his eyes. A short mass of dark curly locks peaked from under the cap that was too big for his head.

"Adorable," she said out loud, then set the frame aside and held her hand out. "Next, please."

Diana complied again, and Anne pored over the photograph with the same hunger. Now that she knew what she was looking for, she was able to spot him almost straight away. An inch or two taller, perhaps, but otherwise not much changed. He would be ten years old by this time, which meant the next photograph would be...

"Our first year at school together." Diana handed her the third frame. Anne's heart beat faster as her eyes located the handsome boy, barely a teen, with his usual confident smile. Over the three year gap, his body had shed its puppy fat, and his features were elongated. He was one of the taller pupils now, and stood in the back, next to an older boy whose name Anne couldn't remember.

She was surprised to find herself sitting next to her bosom friend, and her finger traced their faces.

Diana leaned over to see, and a fond smile appeared on her full lips. "What I wouldn't do to have that figure again."

"Goodness, I wouldn't," shuddered Anne. "I was all elbows and freckles." Still, she couldn't stop staring at herself.

"You were lovely," said Diana sweetly.

Anne shook her head slowly, still captivated. "This was the first photograph ever taken of me."

Anne could feel her friend's sympathy, and kept her eyes carefully averted as she reached for the two frames she'd previously inspected. "Where are you in these?"

Diana pointed, and Anne grinned and _awww_ ed in a manner she hoped would convince Diana that she was alright. "Let's see the next one."

Her second class picture ever featured an even handsomer Gilbert, and in the third he was almost sinfully good looking.

"He must have been the only boy in our class not to go through an awkward phase," declared Diana. "Poor Fred was just riddled with acne. Moody, bless his soul...and will you look at Charlie's ears!"

The last photograph startled Anne: there he was, standing right behind her. She remembered the moment clearly: the last day of school, waiting under the scorching sun. Everybody was sweating, wasps flying into people's faces. Anne had stricken a conversation with Jane out of the blue: an excuse to cross the crowd, and make certain that she stood as far away from her mortal enemy as humanly possible. She wasn't sure now why she'd gone to such lengths, especially since the foe in question was too busy laughing at something Josie had said to pay Anne any attention.

Yet, there he was, standing as close to her as possible. It was too small and blurry to tell, but it almost seemed as though he was glancing in her direction. "Even then," sighed Diana.

"Even then what?" asked Anne.

"Even then, he couldn't keep his eyes off you."

* * *

 _July 15, 1894  
_ _Prince Albert, SK_

 _Dear Ann Withane,_

 _Thank you for your letter. A whole page and a half: I'm flattered! Though y_ _ou certainly don't waste much ink on formalities or small talk. I'm very well, thank you, both in excellent health and spirits. The weather in Prince Albert is fair, abnormally cool for July, but pleasant all the same. Things are going well at work, and both Patty and Lill send their regards. Not that you asked, but you ought to: one_ does _usually exchange such banter in polite correspondence._

 _Now that we've gotten that out of the way:_ _Are you mad, woman?_ _You would have me copy his entire will? Firstly, for the work it represents: you of all people ought to know how little free time doctors are entitled. Secondly, as it so happens, there is quite a bit of private information in there. And thirdly, my most relevant point: Gilbert appointed me as the executor of his will. If he'd wanted you to know the details, he would have sent you a copy. Trust me, there was probably a good reason for this. He didn't take these matters lightly. _

_On a lighter note: there is a matter of the_ _light blue tie you sent him for Christmas. He never got around to wearing it, though I believe he was planning to swap out his old one, as it was getting discolored and ragged._ _Pending on your instructions, I'd be happy to donate or sell the new one, or I can send it back._

 _That'll have to be it for today, I'm afraid. A round of food poisoning has decorated the hospital floors with the regurgitated contents of upset stomachs. I don't understand why the dining facilities haven't been shut down yet, when they insist on serving rancid beef._

 _Your friend,_

 _Doug_

 _PS: Am I making you squeamish yet?_

* * *

August 2, 1894

Anne blinked, confused. She was waking up... it had been a dream.

But it seemed so real.

 _She was in the vegetable patch, when Gilbert joined her. Despite having just recovered from typhoid, he'd looked wonderfully fit, healthy as ever. He was wearing his best suit, with the cream jacket and light brown pants. They were standing on a bridge, and he'd taken her hands. Together they stood, discussing their engagement. It would be long, because he would still attend medical school, but she was fine with waiting. For some reason, he brought up Roy, comparing their lifestyle to what Gardiner could have afforded, but Anne assured Gilbert she didn't need any of that. They'd kissed, and she'd rested her head against his shoulder, listening to the stream trickle underneath them..._

Rain pelted her bedroom window. Anne rolled over and pulled the sheets tightly around herself, trying desperately to return to the world of her dream.

* * *

 _August 4, 1894  
_ _Prince Albert, SK_

 _Dear Enne,_

 _You misunderstand me. By private, I mean that there are some matters that concern other people, and certain numbers that are to remain unspoken. Most of it is sordid and unpleasant. I didn't mean to imply you weren't capable of handling his will, I'm saying that Gilbert didn't want you to have to do it._

 _Ask yourself this: how would you have felt, dumping his finest suits in the donations bin? Or sending formal announcements to all his friends, colleagues, former classmates? Could you have honored the document that entitled his own parents to such a small share of his fortune? Would you have remained impartial, when the rest_ _had to be divvied up amongst the same relatives who looked down on him for abandoning PEI, and the family farm?_

 _You haven't answered yet about the tie. Shall I give it away? Not many here would have cause to wear one, but it is a fine garment. I'm sure it won't be any trouble to find a colleague who'd be pleased to inherit it._

 _Must sign off - today, I'm scheduled to remove warts. Big, nasty, hairy ones, oozing with pus._

 _Your friend,_

 _Doug_

 _PS: Still not squeamish?_

* * *

August 16

"Hugh Gordle is making eyes at you," commented Diana.

Anne stared disinterestedly into her punch. "Two questions: one; who is Hugh Gordle, and two; is he making ears and a nose, too?"

"Come _on_ , Anne! He's cute!"

"Kittens are cute. Babies are cute. Grown men are not cute."

"Fine, dashing, then."

Anne looked up to follow her friend's gaze. "Which one?"

"The one on the left, see, with the punch glass?"

She wrinkled her nose in disgust and turned away. "If a man can't drink without dipping his moustache, he ought to shave it off entirely."

Diana sighed. "How about the Andrews' cousin, Mr. Elbat?"

"The one who's bald?"

"No, you twit, he has a full head of hair. Twelve o'clock."

Anne spun around slowly and rolled her eyes. "That would be a toupee, dear."

"Oh, so what if he's thinning a bit at the top. I'm sure he's a very nice man."

Here it came again. "Spare me the lecture, Di, please. I showed up, didn't I?"

"What good is showing up if you won't dance with anyone? The whole town is talking about how you're on the fast track to becoming an old maid."

"The whole town needs to find something more interesting to talk about."

"They might let off if you danced with someone. Who isn't Fred," Diana quickly added.

"Would _you_ let off if I did?" asked Anne, quirking an eyebrow.

This perked her friend up. "I would."

"Alright. One dance." Anne knew just the person to ask: she scoured the lawn for him with the zeal of a pig sniffing for truffles. She barely noticed people stepping out of her way, absently responded to those who acknowledged her by name, searching until she'd found him talking to the groom.

"There you are, I've been looking for you all over. Oh, Patrick, congratulations - much happiness to you and Tillie," she added as a hurried afterthought to the man of the hour. "You won't mind if I borrow Davy for a bit, will you?"

"Oh...uh, no. Of course not."

"Thank you." She yanked Davy aside.

"What gives?" he complained loudly as she lead him to the area where people were stomping to the bagpipe's reel.

"I need you to dance with me. Now."

"Why?"

He was not a little boy anymore, but he hadn't lost his love for that word. "Because you love me, and I need the favor."

He planted his feet in the ground and halted her progress, just a yard from the wooden planks that had been installed in guise of a dance floor. "What's in it for me?"

"Eternal gratitude? Please, Davy, just one dance."

She stared at him with pleading eyes, and he groaned. "Fine, just one." He begrudgingly let himself be dragged on, and Anne had to do most of the work in the beginning. It was worth it, though, to see Diana standing in the crowd, fuming. Anne blew her a kiss and enjoyed the reel.

The number ended quickly, and the drum started a jig pattern, which was picked up by the piper. Davy didn't release her: his smile relaxed, and he pulled her into the dance. Anne let him guide her. He was tall, now, and farming muscles bulged under his shirt. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend that the strong arm around her was Gilbert's, and that it was his shoulder to which she was clinging.

 _Look where you're going, Carrots._

Her eyes snapped open, just in time to move aside and avoid colliding with the bride and her father. Anne shook herself and came back to Earth.

* * *

 _August 28, 1894  
Prince Albert, SK_

 _Dear Ane_ _,_

 _What is the point of an "e", then, if it isn't sounded?_

 _An abbreviated and censored version, now that I can do: He wanted his body to be buried in Avonlea, so that his parents could keep him home. His fortune was to be divided evenly among his living relatives, so as not to create a fuss. I know they didn't all despise him, and that most of his extended family loved him dearly. But after what he told me several characters, especially his aunt Mary Maria, it was difficult to see her receive her "fair" share. _

_The legal matters, I won't go into, nor the financial details, but h_ _ere's one you might enjoy: he wanted his funeral service to feature Job 13:5. What I wouldn't give to see your minister stumble through that one!_

 _I am very touched by your offer. While my own neck may be a bit thick for it, I was just able to tuck the end in under my jacket. The color is quite nice - we gingers do have to be selective of hues, don't we? It really is a fine tie. Thank you._

 _Your letter that accompanied it must have arrived when he was already unwell, because I found it still sealed in its envelope. I opened it and read it to him when he took a turn for the worse, in hopes that it would get through to him. I wish I could say it reached him, but truthfully, I doubt he heard any of it. This being said, I'm certain he wasn't cross at you, and very much doubt that forgiveness was necessary in the first place._

 _You say very little about yourself in your letters. Are you well? Is everything alright at Green Gables? Do you need to hire more help, now that things are getting busy at the farm? Do tell, what have you planned for the beginning of the academic year?_

 _Please send my fondest regards to Mrs. Blythe, the Wrights, and Mrs. Dr. Blythe if you happen to see her._

 _Off to wash my hands, now - had to treat a man with an overactive sweat gland. You may want to burn this letter now, or at least wash your own hands._

 _Your friend,_

 _Doug_

 _PS: I'm starting to believe you're enjoying this. Are you certain you're not a closet nurse?_

* * *

September 6, 1894

Anne ran downstairs, nearly colliding with Davy in the hallway.

"Where are you off to in such a rush?" he asked, bracing his hand on the wall for support.

"Church!" she quipped, doning her shoes in a hurry.

Davy frowned suspiciously. "Since when do you go to church during the week?"

"I don't," Anne answered lightly. "Supper might be a bit late tonight. There's some apple bread on the table if you need a snack."

Without the patience to prepare the buggy, she set off on foot, beating the dirt path with hassled steps. Today was Monday: at this time of the afternoon, the place ought to be empty.

She really ought to know it off the top of her head. Bored to tears as she'd been, Anne had started memorizing the only book allowed in the house of the Lord, during Sunday service. As far as sins went, she figured it was at least a holy scripture she was reading, and not secular poetry, which she would much prefer. She hadn't exactly assimilated the entire Old Testament - Leviticus was a blur of _shall_ s and _shan't_ s that was impossible to commit to memory, although it was probably her aversion to rules which turned her off. And honestly, what was there to like about a book called Numbers?

However, she did enjoy Job. Well, not the moral - actually, it mostly seemed to her that there was no moral. But there was a plot line, and it read like a rather gruesome, tragic novel. There was one passage she particularly enjoyed, she'd committed it to memory:

Job 19:23  
 _Oh, that my words were now written! Oh, that they were written even in a book,  
_ _And graven with an iron pen in lead, or in stone, forever!**_

It was one of the more beautiful passages of the Good Book, one of the few that truly meant something to her. The fact that it made no mention of Jesus, wrath or blood was an added bonus.

She couldn't recall Job 13 all at once. Was it one of the awful punishments? Hardly appropriate for the situation. Surely it wasn't one of Satan's taunts: it must be one of Job's interjections, then. That might have made sense for a funeral, and would have easily satisfied the congregation's taste for piety.

The church wasn't locked (it never was), and so Anne let herself in through the front. The place was predictably deserted: she marched up to the pulpit and seized the large book. Making herself comfortable on the utmost front pew, she propped the volume open in her lap and leafed through it until she found what she'd been looking for:

Job 13:5  
 _Oh, that you would hold your tongue, that it might be imputed to you for wisdom!**_

An incredulous laugh escaped her lips. _Oh, Gil._ That cheeky boy - even facing death, he remained ever the joker. She'd expected something much more sentimental from her friend, who'd taken his faith seriously (more so than she did, at any rate).

And yet, it was so like him to have chosen this. Doug wasn't wrong about dear Rev. Allen trying to fumble his way around that one: it would have been terribly awkward, and a terrific comic relief. Mr. Blythe would have hidden his grin behind his moustache, a bristly twitch the only visible sign; Mrs. Blythe would have had more trouble hiding her own amusement, she might have used a handkerchief to conceal her smile.

Anne might not have been able to suppress a startled chuckle. _Would it have been possible to laugh, on that awful day?_ she wondered.

 _Come on, Carrots, loosen up a little. You take everything so seriously. You've got to learn to laugh at life from time to time._

She looked around, making sure no one had seen her, and quickly slipped the bible back in its place before hurrying back out.

* * *

 ***Borrowed from the 1952 movie _Hans Christian Andersen_. In the title song, Andersen (portrayed by Danny Kaye) sings about telling tales:**

 _I bring you a fable rare  
_ _There once was a table who said "Oh how I'd love a chair"  
_ _And then and there came a sweet young chair  
_ _All dressed in a bridal gown  
_ _He said her to her in a voice so true  
_ _"Now I did not say I would marry you  
_ _But I would like to sit down"_

 **I always imagined Anne would be able to spin a tale like Andersen - hopefully hers had less morbid endings!**

 ****1599 Geneva Bible (GNV). Please forgive the punctuation alterations: I figured Anne would find it more poetic this way.**

 **AnneFans** **: Yes, he sure did! Also in his first note to her, January 1893.**

 **OriginalMcFishie** **: Earthy is a good adjective to describe Doug - I might use it, if you don't mind!**

 **NotMrsRachelLynde** **: Exciting! I might reveal the source sooner than later, still debating on that one. And yes, Anne's reaction (if/when she finds out) would be promising!**

 **oz diva** **: Excellent question! This fiction is going to stay mostly through Anne's POV, and so it would be very hard to tell if other characters are having similar experiences. Sorry, can't be more precise without spoiling!**

 **elizasky** **: Ah, darn, I wish I'd thought of that! Doug murdering Gilbert is GENIUS. This is one I can afford to spoil: no dramatic genre pivot planned ahead. But I really wish I'd thought that one up...would make for a fantastic thriller, especially if Anne got closer to Doug, which she kind of did in the last chapter.**

 **And yes, he would have horrified the Avonlea crowd. Forget sleeping, he removed his shirt while he had a girl in his room, unsupervized! Scandalous. Your musings on what he might have said before he changed his mind are interesting. He definitely was about to say _something..._ to be revealed! Also, his spelling of Ann: most deliberate!**


	7. 1894: September 7 - December 31

September 7, 1894

"Aren't you gonna finish that?" asked Davy, eyeing the remainders of Anne's hash browns.

She shook her head and pushed her plate towards him. "Enjoy." Anne watched on with fascination as the contents vanished by the forkful.

"Will the wheat be alright, you think?" asked Anne, following up on the concern he'd brought her last month.

"Probably." He didn't look up from the plate. "Mr. Wright said he'd help as much as he could, and Mr. Harrison offered to lend a hand again."

"That's nice of them. I'll have to bake something for Mrs. Harrison."

"I think you ought to thank them, not poison them."

A swift kick under the table made Davy yelp with his mouthful. Anne offered an acerbic grin in return. "So... any news from Millie, lately?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Her folks're still sore about us wanting to settle here."

"But why? Avonlea was good enough Hodgsons a few years ago."

"Mrs. Hodgson doesn't mind so much," said Davy around a mouthful of food. "It's Mr. Hodgson who thinks there's no future in a place like this."

Anne bit back a furious retort. "Well, it's Millie's sentiments that matter, in the end."

"Dunno. I don't want her to stop talking to her Pa altogether because of something stupid."

Her heart melted: she was seeing the little boy who'd never known his own father, and lost two mother figures already. The strong boy, bursting with the need to prove his independence, but who also craved affection and care. Anne reached over the table to muss his golden hay locks.

"Your future together isn't stupid."

"I know."

"You two'll figure something out, I'm sure of it."

"I know."

She sighed. "I love you, Davy."

"Anne, c'mon," he whined.

"I do," she insisted. "I love you very much."

"I get it! I'll do the dishes, alright? Just quit being weird, already!"

Anne grinned smugly as the boy she'd helped raise pushed away from the table in disgust, collecting their empty plates.

* * *

 _September 12, 1894_  
 _Prince Albert, SK_

 _Dear Annette,_

 _You do have a point: there has to be a fair exchange, a tit for tat? Well, the only issue is, I have no tats. Really, outside of work, my days (sometimes nights) consist of sleeping, bathing and eating, though not specifically in that order. Hospital anecdotes are the best I have to offer, and you seem to be nonplussed by those. Still, should something thrilling happen here, you'll be the first person to whom I'll write. Actually, you'll be the only person to whom I'll write - I don't know if Mrs. Blythe would be up to this type of excitement._

 _Speaking of whom, could you please elaborate? When you write 'seeing things', do you mean to say that she sees objects that aren't there? Does she forget herself and imagine that she is in another place altogether? Or are you implying that_ _she talks to people who aren't present? It wouldn't be irregular at all for her to miss her son and husband, although actually seeing them would be a very bad sign indeed. We might be looking at anything, from waking dreams to hallucinations. Or perhaps she is being haunted. The more specific and detailed the account, the better we can assess what is going on. In the meanwhile, it would be best to keep a close eye on her._

 _I wish I could find something crass enough to disgust you once and for all, but sometimes, the chaos here is beautiful: yesterday, I witnessed the birth of triplets. Three fat, pink, screaming, healthy newborns, all in one go._

 _I can't tell you how seldom it happens - the conception of triplets, for one, but the safe delivery of all three is nothing short of exceptional. They made an incredible ruckus, and it was wonderful. Their mother, needless to say, was quite done in by the tripled effort of labor, but still she fought through her extreme fatigue to keep counting: six eyes, six hands, six feet; thirty fingers, twenty-nine toes (just kidding, there were thirty as well). Once they were cleaned and bundled up, the father came into the room to meet the little squealers: he saw triple and fainted (that was another ruckus, though perhaps a less beautiful one). It's times such as these that renew my belief in miracles._

 _You don't have to give me the specifics, but please do tell me the important bits. Let me know that you are at least in good health, and how you are faring overall. I'd be pleased with a bit more, but the bare minimum would suffice for now._

 _Your friend,_

 _Doug_

* * *

October 1, 1894

"...get him to sleep through the whole night. He'll simply cry himself sick, if I let him."

"That's normal, dear. Newborns cry, it's simply what they do. Thank heavens, my Horace was a quiet little thing, but Henrietta would wake the entire household twice a night with her shrieks. Drove me and Andrew to distraction, is what."

"They'll stop crying if you don't coddle them. How else will a baby learn not to cry? If you leave them to sort it out on their own, they'll eventually stop on their own."

"Have you tried rosemary water? Three drops rubbed on the chest before they go to bed. Worked splendidly on Ruthie, she stopped rising at all hours."

"Of course, one must never ignore a crying infant: just see what happened to the poor Blewett's babe."

Anne's blood turned to ice, as it always did when she heard the surname. She excused herself silently from the pie booth, where she'd been trapped listening to the most inane conversations, and marched straight to the head of the line at the lemonade bowl. Diana looked up from the task at hand and smiled. "There you are," she said, handing a full cup to Mr. Spurgeon. "Having a good time?"

"Hardly. You said you'd only be gone a minute."

"I'm sorry, they needed help here. I wasn't gone that long." When she received no answer, Diana looked up again. "Are you alright, Anne?" she asked in a quieter tone. "You look awful pale."

"I'm fine."

"Matilda, would you take over ladling duty?" she asked, wiping her hands on her apron before dragging Anne away from the crowd. "What happened? Your hand is freezing! I wasn't gone _that_ long. Did someone bring up...?"

Anne shook her head. "No, but now I know what to expect from toothing to puberty, and everything in between. Honestly, Avonlea needs a Ladies' College, or a book club, at the very least."

Diana wisely kept silent on the matter, and focused on her friend's appearance. Some color had come back to Anne's cheeks. "Let's go do something fun," she said. "Look, the sack race is about to start! Shall we join?"

A small smile appeared on the pale face. "I'm not sure I'm up for it right now, but I'm sure we could give them a run for their money."

"Too bad. The prize is a batch of Mrs. Sloane's doughnuts."

"Maple?"

"Mm hm."

"I think I'll watch from a safe distance," sighed Anne, though the thought of thick maple glaze made her mouth water. Diana slid an arm around her shoulders and lead her toward the crowd, just in time to witness the cork gun shot. The contestants took off, holding the edge of their burlap sacks as they hopped about like toads, trying to beat each other to the finish line.

"Papa, I wanted to be in it!" whined a child, tugging at her father's hand.

"Maybe when you're older," conceded the man indulgently. "The potato sack race isn't for little girls."

 _"Hey, what did you do that for?" Moody's whine floated through the air._

 _"Sorry, I tripped," explained Gilbert, working on the knot that bound their ankles together._

 _"Aw, shucks, we were winning, too!"_

 _"It's alright, Moody," He finished undoing the band, freeing their legs, and stood up. "It's just for fun."_

 _"Now they're giving the first prize to little_ girls _!_ _"_

 _"They won fair and square," insisted Gilbert, brushing dirt and grass off his shirt. "And they ain't so little, anyhow," he added with a bold wink to the redhead who'd been caught listening._

"...Anne? Anne?"

Diana's face came into focus, and Anne blinked. "Sorry. Who won?"

"Ronnie Kerry. Dear, you're really pale. Let's get you home."

Anne shook her head. "I'm fine. Come, let's go check out the ponies."

* * *

 _October 2, 1894  
Prince Albert, SK_

 _Dear A. B. Shirley,_

 _Of course I didn't mean a haunting in the literal sense of the word. I'm a doctor, not a sorcerer! What goes on in that head of yours? Anyhow,_ _I've reached out to a former professor of mine, as well as one of the doctors at the Royal University. According to_ _Mrs. Blythe's symptoms as you've described them, it could be several things, ranging from stress to dementia - though the latter is unlikely, unless there it runs in the family._ _The general consensus is that grief would be the most probable cause for her episodes, and if that is the case, there isn't much to be done. They say that as long as she is functional, it wouldn't do to worry too much._ _Do you happen to know if she is still taking any sedatives? Barbiturates, chloral?_

 _Should things worsen, however, please let me know straight away. I trust that you'll have the good sense to send a wire, or telephone directly if it is urgent._

 _ _ _As for the other matter: 'tit for tat' is a common idiom, surely an author of your grandeur would be familiar with it. Let it be noted that I commented only on my own lack of tats: the implication of their counterparts is entirely imagined on your part. How is it my fault that your own filthy mind would suggest such a crass_ _double-meaning? Really, how vulgar of you!___

 _I wish I could make it to PEI, I really do. The way things are going now, the hospital can barely spare me for a few days. We're stretched so thin, I've been putting in extra half-shifts to fill the gaps wherever they occur. That's how I ended up assisting the triplets' birth - I have some experience in obstetrics, but it isn't my assigned department. If the trip wasn't so long, I might have been able to steal away: but two days each way means I would need to take a week off at least, and that simply isn't feasible right now._

 _Thank you for updating me on the standing of Green Gables. I'm glad the harvest is going well so far, and_ _hope that you manage to hire the help you and Davy will need. But you said nothing of yourself; of your health, of your emotional state. Gilbert wanted me to keep an eye out for you, and seeing as I really cannot come to Avonlea anytime soon to do so literally... Would it be too much to ask that you let me know how you are? My source keeps me relatively informed, but I would much rather read it from your own pen.  
_

 _Your friend,_

 _Doug_

* * *

October 10, 1894

"Mrs. Blythe?"

The woman inhaled, rousing from her thoughts. "I'm sorry, dear, I seem to have gotten distracted. Oh, please don't take it personally, love," she quickly added, misinterpreting Anne's frightened expression for one of offence. "I'm afraid I haven't been sleeping well these past few days. It's nothing to do with you. Tell me again, about the sleeves?"

Anne couldn't go back to chatting about knitting patterns, not after she'd just witnessed another episode. This one had lasted longer than usual, and though Mrs. Blythe had clearly retreated to another world, there had been no verbal interactions with the alternate universe this time. Anne couldn't decide if that was better or worse.

"Mrs. Blythe..." she began hesitantly, terrified of shattering the woman's present comfort. "...how are you faring, really?"

Her daring question was met with an easy (if not tired) smile. "I promise, I'm getting along quite fine. I could probably do with more rest at night - I think one of the cats is in heat, I could hear her yowling in the garden at all hours. But dear, you seem awfully pale. Are you getting enough rest?"

Anne hated the tears that welled up in her eyes: they would prevent her from seeing Mrs. Blythe's reaction when she asked, "Do you ever see them?"

Trying to see through the liquid coating her pupils was like looking through thick glass: all she got was a blurry, barely distinguishable silhouette. It was impossible to make out any details, let alone facial expressions.

"Of course." Mrs. Blythe's voice was gentle. "All the time."

"Really?" Anne squeaked, doing her best not to blink.

There was a sigh. "I see John in the fields, always far away. Sitting on the porch, if I'm walking up the road. I see Gilbert in his bed, curled up in a lump under the quilts. I see his shape at the kitchen table, always studying, reading something or taking notes. But, my dear, it seems as though _I_ should be the one asking _you_."

Anne felt something in her chest open, and the contents spill out. "I hear him. Sometimes." It was impossible to see anything now, through the rain falling from her eyes. "I know it sounds crazy, but I really do. At first, I thought it was my imagination, but it's his voice! I would know it anywhere, it's his voice speaking to me."

Two boney hands seized hers, stroking her palms and squeezing her fingers in a most affectionate way. "What does it say, this voice?" asked Mrs. Blythe gently.

Anne felt like a toddler as she sniffed back the snot trying to escape from her nose. "Just...conversation. Nothing special." It sounded insane, she knew: yet, she couldn't help but keep talking. "He tells me to watch where I'm going, keeps me from leaving something to burn in the oven. Teases me for losing my hat. Makes fun of Mrs. Sloane's."

The indulgent chuckle belied a wry smile. "Enid always did have eccentric taste in hats." Her voice then turned gentle as a cloud of cotton: "Anne, it's normal to hear and see the people whom we hold dear, after we've lost them."

"It is?" she hiccupped, her heart stopping. She wasn't the only one, after all! Of course, Gilbert would visit his mother! How could she have doubted it?

Mrs. Blythe nodded. "Of course. We see shadows, what our hearts are too full to contain. We know they're not there, not _really_ \- but they live inside us. We keep them alive in our memories, in our love for them."

A false alarm, nothing more. Disappointment crashed down on Anne with no warning. She fell into a sobbing heap on the table, and allowed the woman whom she was supposed to be comforting to pet her hair and soothe her back, with the calming expertise that was proper to a mother.

* * *

 _October 27, 1894_

 _Prince Albert, SK_

 _Miss Shirley,_

 _I'm sorry you feel that way. If such is the case, I shall cease to bother you. However, in consideration to Mrs. Blythe's health and wellbeing, I insist on being contacted at the slightest indication of her condition worsening. The hospital reception has standing orders to put Mrs. Blythe's calls straight through to me: if you must call, use her name._

 _In the event that our paths do not cross again, I wish you all the best._

 _Respectfully,_

 _D. Sheehan_

* * *

November 5, 1894

"I'm awful sorry, Anne. There's just not that much to do around here. Times are changing - now that everyone's using the tell-ophone and all. Things are quiet here, maybe they're not as affected in the big city... But, that's how it is."

Mr. Rowan's drawled out pronunciation of 'telephone' would have made her laugh, were she capable of laughing. As it was, she was doing her best not to throw a tantrum right then and there.

"There's hardly enough to keep Abby busy - she needs it, on account of her father, so I find things for her to do, you see..." he trailed off sheepishly.

It wasn't his fault, she reasoned. Mr. Rowan had warned her in the spring that there wouldn't be much work.

"You're not in trouble, Anne, are you? If you need help -"

"I don't." She needed a job, not a hand out. "I mean, I'm fine, thank you." She saluted the bald man with a fixed smile and turned on her heels before her sharp tongue could lash out.

He could have found something for her to do as well, Anne pouted to herself on the way home. Why should Abby get the special treatment? Her father wasn't dying - he'd had one scare, years ago, and had been milking it ever since. They didn't _really_ need the money, not any worse than Anne did.

Oh, she knew she was trying to convince herself of a fib. Hadn't Mr. Rowan been good enough to her? Five years ago, he had kindly given Anne a shift at the post office, paying her a salary even when there was not enough to occupy two employees. She ought to stay grateful for his generosity: after all, his help had seen her and Marilla through a difficult time.

When the expense of Marilla's medicine, piled on top of the cost of hired help for the farm, became unmanageable, Anne had suggested dipping into the savings Matthew had not entrusted to the bank. Marilla wouldn't hear of it: she insisted that Matthew had left her with strict instructions regarding its purpose. Unable to imagine anything dearer to the man than his farm and his sister (though not necessarily in that specific order), Anne had tried to reason with her charge, but Marilla wouldn't budge: this was not an emergency, and so they would go about 'panicking like headless chickens'.

Well, it still wasn't an option, Anne thought grimly as she let herself in through the gate and walked around the house. She would figure out a way to crunch the numbers. From where she stood at the edge of the garden, she could see Davy bending over in the closest field, inspecting something. His lack of optimism from this year's harvest concerned her a bit, but maybe things weren't as bad as he was making them.

* * *

November 17, 1894

"Is it really that bad?" asked Anne, incredulously, her eyes crossed from staring at the numbers too long.

Fred offered an apologetic grimace. "I wish it wasn't. But the way the wheat behaved this year..."

"The potatoes came out alright," she groped desperately for something positive onto which to hang.

"They did," conceded her red-faced friend, but Anne heard what Fred wasn't saying by the transparent emotions in his blue eyes.

"Alright," she surrendered. "What do we do, then?"

"Would you consider Silas' offer?" he suggested.

She shook her head. "I couldn't do that to Davy, much less sell to a Sloane."

"I didn't think so." He sat back. "Well, if you're not selling land, maybe some furniture? If there's anything you don't mind pawning off?"

Anne felt a surge of gratitude at the fact that he didn't straight up offer her any financial aid. Helping Davy in the farm and crunching numbers was one thing - but Fred knew that mentioning a loan out loud would be a strain between them. They were family, and if anything terrible should occur, there would be coffers opened and money dished out without a question. This was an understood fact, one which needn't be spoken to be true.

"I don't think we're quite there yet," she referred both to the verbalized suggestion and the implied offer. "I still have some set aside from my post office hours: as long as we can earn _something_ from the market these next two weeks, I think we'll be fine."

Fred's smile was tolerant, if not a bit uncertain. Anne grinned back, the concern on her face mirroring his, and patted his hand. "Come on, let's head downstairs. That wife of yours tends to get irritable when dinner is delayed."

"She might be more lenient if you weren't always late."

"I most certainly do not!" Anne's fake outrage rang from the staircase. There was a thumping sound, followed by an u _mf- ow!_ and some giggling.

"Worse than children," mumbled Diana to herself, smirking indulgently, before asking Freddie to hurry up and set the table.

* * *

December 24, 1894

Christmas Eve turned out to be a much bigger affair than the previous year. The added presence of Davy and Mrs. Blythe had been confirmed last month, but the impromptu invitation issued to the Harrisons did crowd the dining room a bit.

That wasn't to say that they weren't welcome: Diana had greeted the couple warmly, introduced the children - reprimanded Small Anne for peeking through the lid of the gift hamper the thoughtful guests had brought with them - and assured them that fitting two extra seats at the table was no trouble at all. Fred had brought more chairs down from the attic, and everyone was squeezed in around the glossy oak table (yes, Diana confirmed to Mrs. Harrison, it was an antique, a Barry family heirloom).

Soon, Mr. Harrison was being instructed on how to make girls squeal by holding worms up to their face by Frederick Wright the younger; Frederick Wright the elder was trying to keep his other offspring from using her fork as a catapult, and Mrs. Blythe asked Davy about Millie.

Diana emerged from the kitchen, presenting the goose on her good silver platter, and everybody cheered at what a handsome bird it was. Anne took advantage of the distraction to slip in unnoticed, and set the tureen of gravy on the table before taking her own seat.

Fred bowed his head to say grace, and the others followed suit. He thanked the Lord for the abundance of food on his table, and for sending him many friends with whom to celebrate the birth of His Son; he asked that James Harrison and his wife and child be safe and merry, since they were unable to travel through the snow as originally planned; and finally, that He keep their beloved friend and son by His side.

The closing of his prayer was answered by a scattering of _amen_ s and some tear-betraying sniffs, and after an ice-breaking joke about who should best be suited to carve the bird, conversation and merriment resumed easily. Anne was clutching Mrs. Blythe's hand like a lifeline under the table, and was finding it hard to let go, but she eventually relinquished her fingers in order to allow the woman to eat.

It might have been all the chattering and laughter, but Anne didn't hear Gilbert that night.

* * *

December 31, 1894

Anne paced the length of her bedroom. She hadn't heard him in over a week: would he not show up tonight?

No, he would show up. He'd promised.

Or, maybe he wouldn't. Maybe Mrs. Blythe was right - Anne had simply gone mad, and the fact that she was aware meant that the hallucinations would not return.

Would a hallucination return, if one was aware of its falsehood?

Deep down, though, Anne knew that she wasn't insane. She knew that she'd truly seen him twice on the New Year. The recent disembodied remarks in her head might just be reminiscences of his voice, but she'd _seen_ him last year, and the one before. Whether he was a ghost, an angel, or something else entirely, she had no clue: but she did know she hadn't imagined their exchanges.

It was already past eleven o'clock. What could be keeping him from showing up now? Was he being held up - did ghosts have an agenda, a schedule to which to adhere?

Anne let herself flop facedown on her bed, the same one upon which she'd been lying when she'd last seen him. Her eyelids had become too heavy too fast, under the influence of the barbiturates...

She scrambled into a sitting position: he'd been furious about the barbiturates, had come in just in time to prevent an overdose. And last year, he'd intervened when she was contemplating ending it all.

She thought she might know how to make him come, though she didn't have what she needed in her room. Mindful not to wake up Davy, she tiptoed down the stairs and into the kitchen. Setting her candle on the counter, she inspected the knife block and selected a serrated cheese knife.

Her sleeve was pushed back a few inches, and she held the blade over her veins.

"A bit dramatic, don't you think?"

She'd been expecting him, but not so soon: she started, and the knife clattered on the ground, narrowly missing her slippered foot.

"You came," she gasped at the form in front of her.

"Well, yes. I said I would," Gilbert rolled his eyes. "What's all this about?" he gestured at the fallen blade.

"It got late, and I thought...well, maybe you only come when I-"

"When you what? Try to cut your life short? You'd have a better success rate jumping off a cliff, you know. That knife is dull, and even if you'd sawed through to the artery, bleeding out from there would have taken forever."

Anne flushed. "I figured, maybe you only needed to see that I was thinking about it..."

"Yeah, that never would have worked," he smirked and leaned back on the counter, crossing his arms lazily in front of his chest. "I always know what you're thinking."

"Are ghosts omniscient?" she asked, her eyes huge as two saucers.

His grin turned smug. "Nah. I've always been omniscient, as far as you're concerned."

"Oh, really," she huffed, putting the knife back in its holder. "Then what am I thinking right now?"

"Let's see," he tapped a finger against his chin and stared at the ceiling, pretending to think. "You're regretting blowing off my friend, by means of post."

"Not remotely close," she bristled.

Gilbert's hazel eyes twinkled under his handsome, long, brown lashes. "I'd say I hit the mark just right. Was that really necessary, Anne?"

"He was getting nosy."

"He was checking in on you, like I'd asked him to."

"But why, Gil? Why him? He's so nosy, and so...annoying! Did it have to be him? Couldn't you have asked Fred? He's so much closer."

Gilbert's disappointment was obvious in the sternness of his eyebrows, and the twist of his mouth. "It's not always all about you, you know. Doug was a good friend to me: you're not the only one who's lost someone, you know." He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. "Ask him about his family, one of these days."

"He doesn't have much, does he?" ventured Anne.

"You'll have to ask him," said Gilbert, pushing off the counter to stand closer to her. "Doug's a good man, Anne. I hate to see either of you suffering alone."

Remorse forced her pride aside. "I was rather rude to him in that last letter, wasn't I?"

Gilbert grinned. "You said it, not me."

"Will he be alright?"

His smile faded. "That's sort of up to you."

"Why can't you do it?"

"Because you're alive, and I'm not? Because he would do the same for you? Because kindness is as kindness does?"

Anne frowned and stared away.

"I hate it when you're right."

It was worth it, just to hear him laugh again.

* * *

 **annjudith** **: Thank you! I like the concept of light out of dark, life going on, etc.  
**

 **oz** **diva** **: Thank you! You found one of my weak points: last names. It was supposed to be Elphias, but it felt too pompous. Elbat sounded familiar for a reason I couldn't pinpoint, and it sounded less distinguished, so I ran with that instead. And then realized that Elbat is just table backwards. *groan*  
**

 **elizasky** **: Thank you! You know how writers inevitably put some of themselves in their characters? You've just found the "me" in Doug: socially provocative and awkward, with a penchant for gross stories. I'm guessing it's both for his own amusement, and I suppose Anne might have egged him on a bit, as well.  
**

 **Excellent suppositions regarding the will. Can't answer without spoiling. ;)**

 **The Job 13:5 scene was originally going to take place in the Green Gables' attic, where Anne opened a dusty crate and pulled out Marilla's Bible. I liked the image of her making herself at home in the unused church better, for some reason.**


	8. 1895: January 12 - January 16

January 12, 1895

The private office was approximately the size a broom closet. Anne was surprised to learn there was one at all: now she supposed the term 'office' was being used rather loosely. There was room for a couple chairs and filing cabinets, the top of which seemed to function as desks. 'Private' was't exactly accurate, either: everything was set up in twos - furniture, makeshift work spaces, even the names and titles labelled on the door.

Small as it may have been, there was largely enough room for two people. After leaving her to get settled, the young and vivacious Kate had returned to check on her. She'd thoughtfully brought in some tea, and stayed for a bit to share a cup, as well as some eyebrow-raising stories.

"...that wasn't nearly as bad as the wheelchair race they'd organized in the hallway."

"Now that's one I've heard!" Anne smiled. "The poor little girl who'd lost her leg?"

"And her brother," confirmed Kate, her cheeky smile back in place. "You should have seen how much fun they were having, the lot. And the best part of it was watching the father laying into Phillips for the scolding he'd just dished out. Honestly, who in their right mind would deny the children a bit of happiness, when it's so hard to come across here."

"To be fair, the argument that 'she couldn't possibly suffer worse injury' was certainly ill-timed and poorly phrased."

The brunette rolled her eyes. "Well, it didn't spare them much trouble, that's for sure. They were given bedpan duty for three days. You know, I would have felt sorry for them, except it was such a relief to the nurses who have to do it on a regular basis."

"I'm sure they deserved it," Anne commented with a smile. "They must have been making a racket."

"Naturally. They woke everyone in the emergency wing," confirmed Kate with a grin of her own.

At first glance, there was nothing remarkable about the young receptionist. As she got to know her a bit, though, Anne discovered that Kate O'Donnovon possessed an endless supply of good humor: this, combined with a sharp mind and a sweet disposition, made it impossible not to befriend her straight away. What more, the dimpled brunette knew how to tell a story - a surer way to Anne's heart, there was not.

"I have no idea how either Doug or Gil got any work done. They might have been dispensed several times over, had they not both turned out to be so good at their job, from the very start. It's extremely rare for newcomers to be put on the fast track for resident status, you know."

Anne smiled at the girl's knowing tone: she very much doubted Kate had been around for more than two or three years herself. "They've made an impression, then."

"You could say that. I'm afraid they rather enjoyed terrorizing interns after graduating from their own short coats. 'Fresh meat', they would call them-"

The door swung open then, and Anne barely contained a yelp of surprise. Doug stood in the doorway, his eyes moving from one occupant of the improvised tea table to the other.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," he mocked coolly.

"There you are, _finally,_ " Kate said with mild reproach as they stood from their chairs. "I left you two messages in the past hour."

Doug ignored her in favor of the other woman. "What are you doing here?" he asked in a carefully neutral manner, though Anne could feel surprise and something else - annoyance? - radiating from him.

"Is that any way to greet your sister? She journeyed a long way to surprise you, you dolt!" scolded Kate.

His shock showed only in the brief pause. "Yes. Sister. Good of you to come," he recited woodenly, still making no move towards her.

"Men," the brunette rolled her eyes as she addressed Anne. "Don't mind him, he's just surprised."

"Darling Kate, do make yourself at home in _my_ office," Doug said pointedly. "It's not like you have a desk of your own downstairs."

"Someone had to see to Nan, since you weren't around to welcome her," she answered breezily. "Anyway, Lottie's sitting in for me. I'll go relieve her now. If you're done with your shift, you can go get her settled in. Here are my keys."

" _Your_ keys?"

"She can't very well stay with you, can she? You snore like a bear - no one sound of hearing could possibly get any sleep with you in the building." She tossed him the set of keys, and Doug's enormous paw caught them mid-air. "Her bag's downstairs, in the coat closet."

"Thank you," he replied. "Now, if everyone whose name isn't inscribed on the door would kindly leave the room," he gestured towards the exit.

Kate rolled her eyes again and clasped Anne's hands. "I get off at nine: we'll talk more tonight, if you're still up. Don't let him bully you, or he'll have to answer to me."

Anne's answering smile was genuine, and the cheeky girl made a lofty exit before Doug shut the door purposefully.

"So." He crossed his white-clad arms. "Not every day I get a visit from my sister. Tell me, how is our mother?"

Though he wore no emotion on his face, nothing about his stance was inviting. Anne arched her spine to stand as tall as she could before him. "I take it your source didn't inform you of my coming here."

He stared at her for two beats before answering. "No. Communication has been...sparse."

"Ah." _Interesting_ , Anne thought.

"Are you going to tell me what you're doing here, or do I have to guess?" His voice showed that they were reaching the limit of his patience.

"I came to say that I'm sorry. It was unkind of me to cut you off like that."

His orange eyebrows quirked asymmetrically. "And you couldn't say that by post?"

"I wanted to apologize in person, and see if there was anyway to salvage our friendship - or start over, maybe. You said it yourself: Gilbert wanted us to be friends. If you're willing to try again, so am I. "

"Well, I could have saved you the trip. Of course we're friends."

Anne held in a sigh of relief: she hadn't realized until now how worried she'd been that he might not have forgiven her. Doug glanced at her sideways. "He warned me this would happen, you know."

Her heart stopped, and her mind blanked. Was he admitting what she thought he was?

"Oh, don't look so surprised: he knew you could be a pill at times. You'd give him the cold shoulder, he'd spend weeks waiting for your reply. I kept telling him to call and yell some sense into you already - the postman was beginning to feel harassed - but he'd just tell me you'd reply when you were good and ready. I may not have held out as long as he did: five years is an awful wait. I figured you'd come around sooner than later, though."

Another false alarm. She hoped the cold sweat on her forehead wasn't showing. "He said that?"

"I'm paraphrasing, but that's pretty much the gist of it. Anne, I'm happy to resume our friendship (not that it ever ceased to be), but you've got to work on your communication skills. You've mastered the art of using a multitude of words to say nothing beautifully - which, I'm sure, will serve you well as an author - please don't do that with me. Write me truthfully, of how you are; how you feel, what you think. Then, we can truly be friends."

Anne bit the inside of her cheek. It was a scary proposal, but a fair one. "Alright." She held her hand out sideways. "True friends."

Doug's malicious grin finally made its reappearance as he shook on it. "True friends."

* * *

January 13, 1895

"Oh my goodness, what is that heavenly smell?"

Anne's eyes crinkled good-humoredly at Kate's mad dash towards the basket of freshly baked goods. The brunette wasted no time in lifting a corner of the covering cloth, and took a deep whiff. "Biscuits!" She seized one and took a rather unladylike bite. "Mmhf," she moaned in ecstasy, plopping down in a chair.

Chuckling, Anne pushed over a small plate of butter (bought at the market the day before) and currant jam (from Green Gables). Kate grabbed the knife with the vigor of a warrior, and slathered the half-eaten treat with some of each. Cramming it all in her mouth at once, she threw her head back and sighed.

"If this is how your mother bakes, I can see how Doug got to be his size!" she managed after swallowing the impossibly large mouthful, already splitting a second biscuit in half.

"My cooking isn't all that good, but I'm proficient enough at biscuits," Anne smiled. "And muffins."

Kate's eyes widened comically. "Make me muffins. Please. Stay, and live with me, and bake. You can pay your share of the room in muffins, and these," she brandished the warm buttered pastry.

Her exuberance made Anne laugh. It was refreshing to get out of Avonlea, and meet new people. Yesterday, she'd spent the evening with Kate and her housemates, Beth and Marge, and and the four of them had had a pleasant time socializing, sipping hot cocoa by the fireplace. Marge studied science at the Royal University, and had a sharp sense of humor; Beth worked as a teacher at a private school, she and Anne had exchanged war stories.

It had been so long since she'd had such stimulating discussions: her chats with the ladies at Patty's place dated from two lifetimes ago, and they'd never held such mature content. How grand it was to debate the advantages of social order controlled by the church versus freedom of faith, and comment on the ongoing evolution of women's rights without risking a slap on the wrist (oh, the benefits of life without a chaperone)!

At one point, though, the topics did get _too_ mature, but Beth had noticed her discomfort and swiftly redirected the conversation. Anne was reminded through her interaction with the kind, witty girls that things really were different in the city. People here lived by a foreign set of values - their houses did not have whimsical names, and young unmarried girls were allowed to live without adult surveillance. Everything felt accelerated here, convention and sentimentality sacrificed for the sake of practicality.

"So, what are you doing today? Is Doug taking you anywhere nice?"

"He'll probably be busy. I was thinking of visiting the university gardens, maybe."

"Busy, my eye! He's taking the afternoon off for you."

"He is?" This was news to Anne.

"Of course! Least he could do, after you traveled so far. Make him take you to the greenhouse, you'll love it." Kate bit her lip then, drumming her fingers restlessly on the tabletop. "Look, Nan, I'm sorry about how we carried on last night, me and Marge."

Anne blinked in confusion. Kate continued: "We kind of forgot ourselves for a while. It's just, the university crowd is fairly rowdy, they rub off on us, you know? And, well... you being Doug's sister and all, I hope you don't think that we were being disrespectful - I can't imagine how that must have sounded to you, but _please_ believe me, it was just one time, and we're still on friendly terms, honest we are!"

She frowned in confusion, then _oh_ 'ed upon realizing that Kate was referring to the part of last night's conversation that had gotten racy; she gasped, and let out a more emphatic _oh_ when she belatedly put two and two together - or, more a propos, one and one.

"It's - fine. Quite alright." It was unexpected and took her completely by surprise... but why should it? Kate had acted rather smitten when she'd first met her last summer - and, well, Doug wasn't a looker, but he certainly knew his way around people. Anne's smile grew devilish. She now had access to some dirt on him: the tables had turned.

"Tell me, dear Kate: what embarrassing dirt do you have on my brother?"

* * *

January 14, 1895

"I don't know, it's as if...she goes into some kind of trance. Not a trance exactly - I can't describe it. She looks normal while it's happening, except for her eyes: they go off, almost manic. Oh, I'm not doing it justice at all." Anne kicked a smattering of gravel off the path.

"You're doing fine. Keep going," urged Doug.

She sighed. "There's no warning for it: one minute, we're chatting about the weather, the next, she's... far away, somewhere no one can reach her. She used to just stare, but now she talks within the dream, too. It's impossible to tell whether she is in the past, or an entirely made up place." Anne turned to Doug for reassurance.

"It doesn't sound good," he conceded, admiring the bare trees on either side of the promenade. "Still, without proper diagnosis, I'm reluctant to prescribe anything at all. Mind altering drugs come with the nastiest side effects."

"I can't imagine anyone on the Island would label her suffering anything other than natural grief. Dr. Porter offered an increased dosage of barbiturates."

"Keep her away from those." The vehemence in his biting tone made Anne start. "They're dangerous. Increased dosage...people die from those."

Anne repressed a shudder. She'd rather not think of _that_. They walked in silence for a while, each retreated to their own world. "Winter in the city is so glum," she bemoaned out loud. "It may as well be any other season, but for the cold."

"You miss the snow that badly?"

"I do. It's divine. Brilliant, white, engraved with the delicate footprints of a sparrow..."

"Cold. You forgot cold."

She challenged him with an arched eyebrow:

"... _The whited air hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven,  
And veils the farmhouse at the garden's end..."*_

His blank stare made her gape. " _The Snow Storm_." she hinted. "Emerson!"

"Ah. Yes. Of course."

Her eyes threatened to bulge right out of their sockets. "How could you live with Gilbert, and not know Emerson?"

"I'm not much for poetry," replied Doug breezily.

"At all?" moaned Anne theatrically. "And to think, we could have been such great friends."

"Don't despair: I'm sure I can recall a verse, if you'll just give me a second." He stopped abruptly, and she eyed him curiously as he frowned in concentration. After a few seconds, words poured from his mouth:

" _There once was a dame from Delaware,**  
Whose husband learned of her affair:  
He undid his belt,  
And cruelly he dealt  
Himself into her-"_

Her violent shove did nothing to his great mass, though he was laughing so hard, his fit nearly sent him toppling over.

"That's not poetry!" she screeched, her face scarlet with embarrassment.

"Wait-" he wheezed through his tears of laughter, raising his arm to block the hand which threatened to slap him. "Wait, I think I have another one. _There once lived a-"_

The kick to his shin was well-aimed, and this time he did falter. It was all he could do to sit up, trying to abate his chuckles as Anne stormed off indignantly.

* * *

January 16, 1895

The party was in full swing: one could barely hear the piano being played over the sound of thirty-or-so young men and women talking, laughing and hollering. The agitated shouts hadn't escalated into a fight yet, but Anne expected a brawl to break out at any moment.

She was having a hard time finding a place to set down her drink. Most of the furniture in the large parlor had white sheets draped over it, and used cups littered every inch of the cloth-covered surfaces; more could be found leaving rings on the fireplace mantle, some even tucked between the volumes on the bookshelves.

Her own glass was problematically full. She hadn't realized, when Kate had thrust it in her hands, that the punch had been laced with... well, she didn't know what exactly, but it was certainly very strong. In fact, she'd nearly gagged on the first sip, its telltale medicinal burn attacking her palate in a most unpleasant way.

In the time it had taken her to swallow the bitter mouthful, Kate and Marge had disappeared in the crowd, leaving Anne to fend for herself. Unwilling to cross the sea of guests in attendance, she'd found it more prudent to stay in the corner and wait for her friends to return (hopefully sooner than later). Keeping out of the way proved to be tricky as people kept pushing from the punch bowl to the piano. Some were even attempting to dance, though there was not much room to do so, and those who bravely paired up had to stand close enough to make Anne blush just from watching.

A vivid memory of Mrs. Lynde chaperoning the AVIS benefit dance came to mind: the woman had surveyed the town hall with utmost dedication, pacing furiously about the room to poke couples standing less than an arm's length apart, ranting the whole time about the devil's temptation and spring madness. Gilbert had gotten Anne in trouble several times by purposefully tripping her, then forcing her to grab his shoulders to stay upright. Josie Pye had to be scolded repeatedly as well, for leaning into her dance partners too boldly: Mrs. Pye had made a scandal out of the whole affair, and Mrs. Lynde was thereafter relieved of future chaperoning duties. What would dear Rachel think of this cluster of inebriated hooligans, Anne wondered?

Something collided with her back, snapping her out of her reminiscence and making her lurch forward. Liquid sloshed over the rim of her cup, drenching her sleeve.

"Oops- sorry 'bout that!" giggled the offender, a girl a bit shorter (and likely much younger) than Anne. She stumbled away with a swaying step, bumping into at least four more people on her tipsy, merry way.

Anne groaned as she surveyed the damage: the stain only extended a couple inches past the hem of her mercifully dark blue sleeve. She reunited her glass with its brothers on the nearest bookshelf without much guilt, and decided to brave the obstacles standing between her and the door.

Navigating the forest of humans was nerve racking: Anne found that if she kept her eyes focused on the door, she could ignore the accidental touches (at least, she hoped they were accidental). Almost there - dodge a gesticulating hand - just a few more steps... her fingers reached for the doorknob-

The door swung open without any warning, and Anne tumbled forward with it into the largest obstacle yet. Coincidentally, he was also the least threatening, due to his familiarity, and the generous amount of padding around his bones.

"Leaving already?"

"I was looking for the kitchen." And apparently, had gotten the wrong door.

"Where are the others?" Doug surveyed the room.

"I don't know, we got separated." His pause indicated that maybe her anxiety was a bit more pronounced than she'd hoped.

"Alright, let's go find them. Follow me." He grabbed her hand and lead her back across the room. This time, though, its occupants parted like the red sea for Moses, and Anne recognized that his largeness did come with one advantage, at least. He steered her towards another exit and down a much less populated hallway.

"What the-?" He released her hand, frowning at its stickiness.

"Someone made me spill my drink," she explained.

"Well, that explains why you feel like an ant trap." He missed her glare, too busy opening a series of doors before exclaiming "Aha! This way." He'd found the kitchen - and in it, the girls who'd abandoned her.

"Nan!" called Kate, rising from the table she, Marge and a couple more people occupied. "Where did you go? I turned around, and you were gone!"

It was impossible to stay cross in the face of her joyful (and somewhat intoxicated) perkiness. Anne smiled. "Seems like you didn't miss me too much."

"Oh! Nan, this is Laurie Sanderson, and Cole Lewis," she made quick introductions. "Boys, this is my dear friend, Nan Sheehan."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," the ebony-haired man in the neatly pressed suit next to Marge recited dispassionately, nodding from his seat. The fairer one, outfitted with far less care, stood to make up for his companion's lack of enthusiasm.

"Friends of Kate's are always welcome!" he grinned, holding his hand out. Anne gave him an awkward sticky-fingered wave, secretly glad not to have to touch him. Her rudeness didn't seem to register, as he went on, twirling his thin golden moustache: "This must be your first time at one of my parties. I'd never forget a face as lovely as yours."

" _Excuse_ me?" She turned to ask Doug to escort her back out, only to find that he wasn't behind her, as she'd thought him to be.

"They're hardly _your_ parties, Cole, if they take place in _my_ drawing room!" the darker man glared from behind his silver-rimmed spectacles.

"Your parents' estate, technically, seeing as they pay for it," Cole pointed out breezily. "And if I didn't organize these social gatherings, who would?"

"Someone with their OWN HOUSE TO TRASH!" Laurie thumped the table with his fist.

"Don't mind them, they're always like this," Kate assured Anne, whose face was still beet-red.

"Do you have ANY idea how much these gatherings of yours COST us in broken dishes ALONE?"

"Say, wasn't Doug here just a second ago?" the pretty brunette frowned, craning her neck.

"Your parents really ought to be thanking me. Your mother's always saying you need to make more connections, if you're ever going to start a business."

"He was - I don't know where he disappeared," Anne had to raise her voice over the ongoing argument.

"The business of what, exactly? Barkeeping?"

"Are you two quite done?" asked Marge in a bored tone.

"Don't be vulgar, Laurie, you'll scare the ladies away," reprimanded Cole.

"We're more liable to leave because you're boring us half to death," chimed in Kate.

"So, this is where all the fun is," Doug's voice resonated from the doorway.

"The fat man cometh!" Cole jumped up on a chair, ignoring Laurie's vocal concern for the upholstery. "Mind you turn sideways to fit through the door."

"Lewis, good to see you taking your career path so seriously." Doug matched his teasing tone, offering a dampened handkerchief to Anne. She accepted it gratefully and rubbed her fingers on it. "I can see how sobering your getting kicked out of University has been."

"Poor wording, big man. C'mon, a toast!"

"Nan, where's your glass?" asked Kate as everyone found theirs. "Here, take mine." Anne tried to refuse, but Cole was already handing out another one. Doug noticed her discomfort, and plucked the cup from her hand.

"To the Sandersons, may they unwittingly host our parties for many years to come!" A symphony of clinking glass accompanied the chorus of consent, and even Laurie joined in, a twinkle of good humor on his face. Anne watched, stunned, as the circle of friends resumed chatting with no animosity, as if the shouting match hadn't just taken place.

Laurie relaxed, even laughed when Kate undid his tie and claimed it as her own, and Cole proved to be a kind man whose genuine lust for life (and more) made up for his lack of propriety in the end. Anne glanced at Laurie's pocket watch and stood.

"I really must be going," Anne apologized over her new chums' protests. "Early train tomorrow."

"I'll walk you home," offered Doug, and after a round of thanks and farewells (followed by a near-impossible hunt for their coats and hats in the packed foyer), the two walked out into the cold night.

"So. _That's_ a university party." Anne pulled her scarf tighter around herself.

"Fraternity party," corrected Doug. "The Royal U crowd is varied. Some of the social events are more quaint, and some are rowdier."

It was impossible for Anne to imagine a rowdier party than the one she'd just left. They turned onto a street with no lamp lights. The new level of darkness fed her bravado to ask: "Did he attend events like these?"

Doug didn't ask for clarification, as none was needed. "On occasion."

Why was it unsettling for her to imagine Gilbert at such a rambunctious gathering? He'd been president of the Lambs, after all. Anne tried to picture him laughing loudly with his peers, cheeks flushed and eyes glazed from drink. The portrayal made her uncomfortably disappointed.

"He wasn't wild, Anne," defended Doug. "When you spend all your waking time at a hospital... sometimes, you just need a reminder that there's a world outside of pain and sickness."

"But he never told me," she mused out loud. Her mind was at war with itself: it was impossible to reconcile this new image of Gilbert with memories of the sweet, straight-laced Islander whose penchant for trouble making was innocently juvenile in comparison.

"Don't dwell on it. This crowd is much younger than us, he was losing interest in the parties anyway. We hardly ever went out... he just liked to see people living their lives, having fun, setting worries aside for an evening."

It should have mollified her, but her mind was still reeling. "And you didn't enjoy it?" she deflected.

They stopped in front of the house where Anne would be spending one more night. Snow formed in the air around them in minuscule shimmery flakes. "I went because he asked me to. He knew I wouldn't let things get out of hand."

He turned towards her then, his pale face tinted slightly blue by the moonlight. "You _knew_ him, Anne. We both did. He was up for a promotion, which would have upgraded his status and enhanced his eligibility: he would have settled down in a nice house on the posh side of town. Married with children, reading by the fire, a cat and dog at either side... he was still _that_ Gil."

Anne shuddered, and attempted a smile for his sake. "I would invite you in, but I think Beth might be sleeping..."

"I have to be at work in an hour, anyway," Doug declined. "You have a ride for tomorrow?"

"Yes, Kate called for one already."

"Alright." He tipped his hat at her. "Have a safe trip back."

"Thank you. Take care, Doug."

He grinned. "Don't forget your promise to write."

"You know, if you tell me who your informant is, I could just go straight to them, and spare myself the cost of a stamp."

His amusement echoed through the deserted alley. "Not a chance, A. B. Shirley! You keep me up to date with your writing, and I'll send you love poems in return. _There once was a girl from Regina_..."

Doug's loud laughter followed her up to the door until she slammed it shut.

* * *

 ***Ralph Waldo Emerson, _The Snow Storm  
_** ****obviously not Emerson - I take full credit for that one!**

 **elizasky** **: As always, nothing gets past you! I think you're right about b) the letters might have gotten a bit too personal. I would add c) his insistence in knowing how she was doing/feeling and not taking just "I'm fine" for an acceptable answer.**

 **All we know of Dora so far is the brief line in the letter to Davy from January 1894: I thought I'd included her situation, and realized upon re-reading that I'd cut it! More on her soon.  
**

 **Very astute suppositions as far the hauntings! I will point out that Mrs. Blythe's hauntings seem indeed to be only visual so far, and they (by her own description to Anne) lack the interactive quality of Anne's hauntings. Mrs. Blythe herself doesn't seem convinced that what she is seeing is more than shadows of what she was used to seeing.**

 **OriginalMcFishie** **: Excellent observations! Unfortunately, I can't answer your questions without spoilers. But thank you so much for commenting! :D  
**

 **Excel Aunt** **: Dingdingding, we have a winner! You're the first to have pointed out the B in A. B. Shirley.  
**

 **I think that Anne sees Doug as you do - she appreciates him despite his quirks. He definitely is kind of a control freak. I hadn't thought of Davy-Dora-Doug match, but thanks for pointing it out! I did think of bringing Matthew in, but then I realized it would just be too awful, even for me (and that's saying something). Speaking of devastating stories, I really wish I had affectionate cats to watch me while I was reading elizasky's _Within a Forest Dark_ , a must read if you haven't done so already! (Keep the kitties close though, it's a tearjerker.)  
**

 **The "freckled like a seeded roll" line comes from my aunt, she calls people with acne "sesame bun" (including herself).**


	9. 1895: January 21 - April 1

January 21, 1895

"Just - a little - further -"

The weight was straining Anne's arms to their maximum capacity.

"Almost there..."

Finally, they reached the desk, and release the case onto it with a loud _thunk_.

"This better be worth it," panted Davy, shaking out his hands.

Anne caressed the shiny black case reverently, smiling as she caught her breath. "Oh, it will be. Are you ready to see?"

"Just open it, already." Anne rolled her eyes at his faked disinterest - she knew Davy was dying of curiosity.

"Steel yourself," she warned, unbuckling the latches. The lid flapped open, and she gestured theatrically. "Behold!"

Davy blinked. He frowned, took a step closer to bring his face level with the contraption. To him, it looked like a millipede, its metal legs all in organized rows, the padded feet sticking up in the air. "What is it?"

"The solution to all our troubles, Davy-boy. This will save Green Gables!"

His frown deepened. "I don't get it."

"Allow me to demonstrate." Anne pulled a sheet of paper from the case's side compartment, and fed it into the machine. Crouching to better see what she was doing (and making a mental note to bring a chair in here), she positioned her fingers over the buttons and pressed. The metallic stems emitted a series of clacks against the scroll at the top. Anne freed the paper from the noisy beast and handed it to her spectator with a flourish.

He frowned at the sheet. Brought it up to his nose, held it up to the light. Not the reaction Anne had anticipated: she took the paper from him and frowned in turn.

"Nothing," she muttered, bending over to check the mechanisms.

" _This_ is what you took a three day detour for? A broken typewriting machine?"

"The ink band must have dried up," Anne touched the black ribbon, ignoring Davy's dismay.

"How is this supposed to save the farm?" he pointed at the faulty machine, dumbstruck, his jaw slack.

"You're working the farm. I'm just making sure the land stays ours, by keeping our finances steady. From now on, this will be our income!"

"Fine. This is fine," Davy paced about the room, trying to suppress the mild panic clawing its way up his throat. "The cabbage is coming in alright, and so are the turnips. If we bring in some of the eggs, I can make a little extra at market. And you said you still had a little left over from the post office, right?"

"Most of it went toward the machine, I spent the rest on the train fare." Anne looked up at his horrified expression and laid a tender hand on his blanched face. "There's no need to worry, Davy-boy. Have faith."

* * *

 _February 3, 1895  
Prince Albert, SK_

 _Dear A. B. Shirley,_

 _Well, now I know the reason for the detour to Toronto on your way home. A worthy investment indeed - an improvement, at the very least: your handwritten lines do tend to go crooked on the page, reading your letters was giving me a crick in the neck. I'm assuming this will help you submit your manuscripts in a more professional format?_

 _Thank you for your visit. I appreciate your coming all the way out here, and I'm sorry I haven't been able to reciprocate the gesture. I would have jumped on a train myself after that farewell letter of yours (to talk some sense into you, or throttle you), but as you can see, I barely get an entire night off work. Things ought to be slowing down come spring, the director promised us some new hires. In the meanwhile, it's double shifts and no sleep for all of us at the hospital._

 _Speaking of which, Kate has asked me to convey her best regards as well as salutations from Marge and Beth, and to say that you are always welcome at their house. Those are my own words: hers were much less formal (something about abducting you for more biscuits?), so I took the liberty of rephrasing._

 _Thank you for the Longfellow poem. It was inspirational, really - anyone bold enough to publish something called '_ Seaweed _' ought to get recognition for bravery alone, though I'm afraid all that '_ drifting' _and '_ shifting' _made me feel queasy.* If you ask me, it lacked both in plot and characters. Take my latest composition, for a good example:_

There once was a lady from Maine  
Who'd met a nice lad on the train:  
They made quite the couple,  
Though she wasn't so supple  
And sustained a most painful sprain.**

 _I'd write more, but I really must get some sleep. Take care, and keep on typing!_

 _Your friend,_

 _Doug_

* * *

February 16, 1895

Anne was vaguely aware of her name being called. Dazed, she turned around to see Davy, glaring at her in his nightshirt. His lips were moving, but his voice sounded as though it was coming from underwater. It wasn't until he gestured at the side of her head that Anne remembered the cotton balls stuffed in her ears: she promptly removed them. "What? What's wrong, Davy?"

"What's wrong? Anne, it's late! Will you stop, already?"

"It's not that late, it's only..." A glance out the door to the grandfather clock in the hallway corrected her. "Oh, it is late. Sorry."

"The noise is bad enough during the day, but you've got to give it a rest at night!"

"Are you out of cotton balls? Here, take some of mine-"

"I can't sleep with those, they make my ears hurt." He rubbed his face and yawned. "Come on, Anne. You might not need any, but let a fellow get some rest, won't you?"

"Fine," she sighed. "I wasn't getting anywhere, anyway."

The bleary-eyed man of the house returned to bed grumbling, and Anne closed up the office for the night. She'd converted Matthew's old room into her workspace, inconveniently situated right below Davy's room. Using the smallest furnished room of the house had made sense at the time: that was before realizing how loud the machine could be. Davy had taken to stuffing his ears against the clanging of metal, and Anne had been quick to follow suit.

That was only one of the problems. Typing was hard: the keys required a certain amount of force to work, and the repeated gesture was starting to make her wrists ache. What more, finding the right keys to press was a headache in itself: who in their right mind had arranged the letters in such disorder? To have the alphabet so carelessly spilled and randomly put back together meant that Anne had to lean over to glare at the inscriptions. She'd even taken to practicing silently, floating her fingertips on the keypads as lightly as one might tinkle the ivories of a piano: an exercise that left her feeling ridiculous, and didn't seem to improve her technique by much.

To make matters worse, business wasn't catching as fast as she hoped. Mr. Rowan had been gentle in his refusal of her services, on the grounds that keeping their records by hand was just fine. He'd assured her that if she was in need, he could surely rustle up something for her to do in the sorting room, but Anne didn't want his hours now: not when she needed her investment to pay off.

All the other business owners in Avonlea were of the same mind as the post master. They'd always written everything up by hand, why would they change now? People didn't even file that much paperwork in these parts, anyway. Leave those infernal machines in the city where they belonged: lazy shortcuts, they were, and what was so wrong with good old fashioned ink pens?

It didn't matter how many times Anne tried to explain the difference between a typewriting device and a printing press, or how fervently she demonstrated the convenience of the former, or how low she bent her fares: in the end, the only person who gave her the time of day was Miss Nilson at the general store.

Unfortunately, there wasn't much to be done there: she'd breezed through inventory, converted some receipts and orders... and that was it. Four cents per sheet was as high a fee as she dared to ask, and still she barely made a pittance, what with the cost of paper...

Still, Anne kept her head high: she would keep on trying. In the meanwhile, she had her own typing to do, having only converted two of her fifteen existing chapters to neat print. She hoped that eventually, the town would come to its senses, and that by that time, her fingers would be more adept to the task than they were now.

* * *

 _February 21, 1895_  
 _Prince Albert, SK_

 _You are a most cruel woman, getting my hopes up!_

 _By the thickness of your latest missive, I'd imagined receiving an A. B. Shirley original. Instead, I discover that not only have you retired the typewriting device, but you're now using your own pen (Excalibur has been extracted from its stone again, I see!) to copy another's work. What kind of author are you, anyway?_

 _Well, your Tennyson has more merit than the last 'Fellow, I'll give you that. But a merman, really? Fine dream - for someone six years of age, perhaps. Poor bloke, it sounds as though he's never know the touch of anyone but himself. Unlike the_ Lady who came from Madras, whose lover's hands were made of glass.*** _I haven't the time to pen the whole thing, but I'll leave you to guess where said lover broke his fingers._

 _I'm afraid we've just received some less than pleasing news here: hospital direction is putting a pause on the hiring search indefinitely, claiming that budget won't allow for it at the moment. I think they find it rather convenient to have us all on overtime, though we won't be able to sustain this rhythm much longer. Someone's bound to drop from exhaustion, sooner or later. If it's me, I hope the director throws out his back trying to pick me up from the floor._

 _Thank you for keeping me up to date with the situation in Avonlea. I hope this scheme of yours works out. If not, Kate says that you can come to Saskatchewan and move in with her to be her muffin slave - is that code for something? She refused to clarify. Either way, you have options here, too_ _._

 _Your friend,_

 _Doug_

* * *

March 1, 1895

Anne held two papers in her hands. One listed the total of her earnings for the month of February.

 _Feb. 2: MRS. NILSON 4 pages (BUS. - general store) - 16 cts  
Feb. 9: __MRS. NILSON 6 pages (BUS. - general store) - 24 cts  
Feb. 13: MR. BARRY 1 page (PERS. - letter) - 3 cts  
Feb. 16: __MRS. NILSON 5 pages (BUS. - general store) - 20 cts -2cts discount - 18 cts  
Feb. 22: MRS. BELL 1 page (PERS. - letter) - 3 cts  
Feb. 23: __MRS. NILSON 7 pages (BUS. - general store) - 28 cts -3 cts discount - 25 cts_

 _Feb. 1895 total: 89 cts_

The other was the grocer's bill, with an amount that was painful to read (as it largely surpassed eighty-nine cents).

 _Look on the bright side, Carrots! You might be able to sell that machine of yours for a pretty penny.I'm not saying it was a silly purchase, but..._

Anne plopped on her bed and set the papers down. If business didn't pick up soon, she would be forced to do something drastic.

* * *

 _March 14, 1895  
Prince Albert, SK_

 _Why, Shirley, I never knew you cared!_

 _While it's certainly very sweet of you to worry over me, it is also unnecessary. I'm well-practiced by now in the art of staying awake for long periods of time, and easily go twenty-four hours without sleep. One time during our first year, Gil and I made it past thirty consecutive hours awake: by the time we'd seen the sun rise twice, we were so loopy we could barely stand. Our shift supervisor found us giggling hysterically upstairs in the physical rehabilitation center, abusing the equipment. Punishment ensued, and we learned the value of a good nap that day_.

 _Yes, of COURSE_ _I'd heard of Tennyson before. And Longfellow, and Browning, too. I am confused by your choice of verse, though: are you calling me an angel, an eagle, or a_ merest man? _****_ _I prefer more literal poetry myself, such as_ The young man from Oslo, whose wife was rather shallow. _I'll spare you the plot complications - in the end, he makes clever use of his toe.*****_

 _I'm very glad Mrs. Blythe's health is improving. A cold is nothing much to worry about, but I understand your concern under the circumstances. Make sure she gets rest, drinks plenty of fluids. And do try to get the doctor's notes for me, if it isn't too much trouble._ _Thank you for looking after her as I cannot._

 _Take care, Anne. Stay sound and healthy, and keep me closely posted._

 _Your friend,_

 _Doug_

* * *

April 1, 1895

Diana looked from the papers to Anne, and then back down to the papers.

"Anne, this is... what is it?"

"I itemized my income - this is all from the past month."

"Oh. I see." She frowned. "Four cents a page? That sounds awfully expensive."

"Only if it's a business document. Three cents for personal documents, such as letters."

"I see father's been employing your services quite a bit recently."

"Oh, he's done better than that - he's convinced his two of his friends to start typing their letters, too. I've tried to offer him a discount, but he wouldn't hear of it."

Diana's lips pursed into a terse smile as she handed the papers back. "I'm very glad your finances are on the incline."

"It doesn't bother you that I'm in business with your family, does it? If so, I'll stop right away."

She shook her raven head. "No, it's fine. I might find something for you to type as well - it'll give you an excuse to talk to me more than once a week."

"Di, what is it?"

"Oh, nothing."

Anne stood before her friend, planting her feet firmly in the ground. "Speak to me, Diana Wright née Barry!"

Her round face took an uncharacteristic hard front. "It's this obsession with your machine. To be honest, it sounds like a crackpot scheme. I know, I know it's working now, but... this leaving twice, on a whim, disappearing halfway across the country - and now, it's as if you're lost in this fantasy of yours, where you suddenly make a fortune with a - a typing gizmo, and then what? You'll jump on another ferry, to New York, or - I don't know... London, or _India_ , and write of your exciting adventures there?"

Anne clearly heard what she wasn't saying. "Diana, my love." She grabbed her friend's hands. "I was only visiting Prince Albert. I had no intentions to stay, I only had to take care of a, er, somewhat pressing matter."

"I used to matter, too." The tear that rolled down Diana's full rosy cheek broke Anne's heart.

"You matter the most," she confirmed, brushing it away with her thumb. "My life is here. My heart is here. Everyone I love is here, and you're at the very top of that list."

Diana's lips moved tremulously: whether to form a smile or a frown, it was unclear. "We're thirty years old, Anne. Don't you ever worry about what happens after? When we lose our health, our minds..."

"Dear, have you been having nightmares again?" asked Anne, reaching underneath the black bangs to caress the peach colored forehead. "You're being morbid."

"But that doesn't mean it won't happen." Diana caught the pale hand and pressed it in her own. "We will get old, God willing. And when I do, I will have Small Anne and Freddie to look after me."

"Not Fred?" Anne raised a teasing eyebrow, only to receive the patent unamused stare that seemed to be acquired automatically with motherhood.

"Fred is two years older than me."

"Than _I_."

"The point is, I'll have my children to look after me. By that time, they might even have children of their own. Who will care for you, Anne? Mrs. Blythe isn't going to be around forever. And Davy will be moving back to Gaspereaux after the harvest this year: by the sounds of it, he won't be eager to come back."

Red eyebrows raised to the red hairline. "He said that? Did Fred tell you?"

"Davy told him that if the finances stayed as they are, there wouldn't be enough for the both of you to live off. He's worried about you. They're men, Anne!" Diana shook her head before she could interrupt. "You can't blame them for being practical."

Anne seethed silently for a moment, her nostrils flared with heavy bovine breaths. She counted to ten and unclenched her teeth, gazing into the soulful black eyes.

"While I can appreciate their concern, I have things under control. No, let me speak now: I know this idea was risky, but it's working. The drugstore just asked me to convert all their records, as well as any paperwork they'll incur in the future. And Mr. Lawson is considering having most of his documents typed from now on. He hasn't confirmed yet, and I wanted to wait to tell you, but just imagine, Di: even with a discount, I'd earn more than triple what I made last month!"

"Won't that be an awful lot of typing?" asked Diana skeptically, carefully reining in any enthusiasm.

"That's the point, isn't it? I know it sounds crazy, but..." Anne sighed. "I needed to do this. Something for me: to support myself, and Davy. I summoned him here, and so it's my responsibility to make sure we have a roof over our heads, and food on the table. And Di, I _like_ being able to earn my own way, not to have to rely on anyone."

Diana smiled sadly, her tone wistful as she said: "I still hope you might enjoy relying on someone, some day."

A fist of pain squeezed at Anne's heart. "There was only one person in the world who might have held that position."

Tears had already started leaking. "Gilbert wouldn't want you to be alone for the rest of your life."

"I know."

Diana pressed her dark brow to her pale one, absorbing her friend's misery. Anne let herself be comforted for a while, then straightened up with a resolute sniff.

"That's just how it is now, Di. I began my life alone, I'm not afraid to finish it that way." Especially since she wasn't truly alone, but there was no way she could explain that: not without sounding utterly insane. "For now, let us be young, and look to the nearer future - I need your help with something important."

Glee illuminated Diana's face then, and Anne smiled teasingly.

"Come on, Di: we've got the wedding of a century to plan!"

* * *

 ***H. W. Longfellow, _Seaweed  
_** ****Sorry, this was the best I could manage with a T rating.  
** *****Another mavors4986 original  
** ******Robert Browning, _Man I am and man would be  
_** *******Yet another one of my creations. I'm obviously not a poet...**

 **Thank you all for reading, and especially for reviewing! Your remarks are becoming far too pertinent and clever, so I've responded to the last round of reviews via PM. I truly appreciate your criticism and support, thank you all so much!**


	10. 1895: April 27 - June 19

April 27, 1895

"I'm sorry, Mr. Rowan, I really am, but I don't think I can manage. Your records are - well, quite frankly, they're huge. I'm afraid I've got a rather full load already, I wouldn't be able to render these in time."

"There's no rush," the man dabbed at his bald head with a handkerchief.

His subdued manner made Anne smile kindly. "I really do want to help," she told him sincerely, her perverse satisfaction at the role reversal rapidly fleeting. The post master was a good man, she reminded herself. Hadn't he helped her twice before?

"Well..." she eyed the stacks in the back office. "If you let me take one box at a time, and give me a week, I can lower my fees to two cents a page."

Poor Mr. Rowan clumsily spluttered that money wasn't an issue, and thanked her effusively. Anne assured the man that it was a pleasure, handling herself as gracefully as she could. Her poise held until she reached the edge of the forest: she then broke into a joyful dance to accompany her victorious yips.

* * *

May 8, 1895

"What do you think?" asked Diana. "Pigeon gray, or emerald green?"

Anne examined the long strips of fabric being presented to her. "They're both lovely," she answered earnestly.

"Green is appropriate for all seasons," reasoned Diana thoughtfully. "But grey would bring out the hazel in his eyes."

A sudden vision of teasing hazel eyes and a lopsided grin made Anne's heart hammer against her breast.

"Anne?"

She blinked and turned her attention back to the neckties. "Green. The green one."

The briskness of her reply made Diana frown. "Are you alright, dear?"

Anne forced a smile. "I'm fine. It's just... I can't believe this is really happening, after all this time."

"What's happening?" inquired Davy, joining them on the porch. Surprised by his sudden arrival, both friends started.

"Nothing!" squeaked Anne, promptly shutting her notebook full of sketches.

"I was just leaving," Diana stood, cramming the ties in her bag. "Davy, have you grown recently? How tall would you say you are, now? Less than 180?"

"Uh..."

"178, perhaps," she measured him with her eyes. "Anne, would you say 178?"

"Probably," agreed Anne with a wry smile. For all her virtues, her bosom friend severely lacked discretion.

"Well, never mind that just now, I should go. We're expecting you and the Harrisons tomorrow for supper, don't forget!"

With a swift pat to Davy's cheek and a wink to her partner in crime, Diana took off. Davy tilted his head at Anne, who shrugged with a feigned air of ignorance.

"Women," he muttered to himself as he went indoors in search of some tea.

Well, thought Anne with a sigh. At least he wasn't giving her the cold shoulder anymore.

* * *

May 23, 1895

Anne plunged her hands into the bowl of hot water and sighed. With sharp pain shooting through her arms, she was forced to recognize that she might have bitten off more than she could chew with Mr. Rowan's offer. But, by golly, it was satisfying: not just the pay - though it was an undeniably sweet benefit - but the work itself, the productivity that got her somewhere.

This was what she was meant to do. The farm was her home, but it wasn't her life. She lived for words: letters were her language, and she thrived on prose and poetry.

Swishing her fingers in the steaming bowl, she wondered if she ought to cut down on clients to focus a bit more on her own scripts. The entrepreneur in her balked at turning down paying customers, but she missed her own writing - and she hoped that her muscles wouldn't snap before she could get to it.

* * *

June 4, 1895

"Egg salad again?" whined Davy.

"What's wrong with that?" asked Anne without looking up from her stack of documents.

"We had egg salad yesterday." He plopped tiredly onto his chair and eyed the plate in front of him with distaste.

"It's leftover," she explained, underlining a sentence with her pen. "Has it turned? If so, I'll make some more."

"I'm tired of it," he grumbled. "Can't we have something else?"

"You know how I feel about wasting food." She marked an 'x' in the margin, then placed the paper on a stack and reached for another sheet.

"I don't see why you kill yourself making two cents at a time," grumbled Davy.

This made her set down her pen firmly. "It's an honest living, and it's supporting us both right now," she looked up from her work to fix him sternly. He might be saddled with worries about the farm and his long distance engagement, but his attitude was starting to get on her nerves.

"It's not working!" he slapped the table. "You keep saying that everything is fine, but all we eat is eggs and sandwiches!" His chair scraped the floor as he stood.

"Davy-boy..." she called as he stormed off, plate in tow. "Davy!"

The only reply she received was the sound of his door slamming shut. She considered going after him to explain the reason they were eating egg salad was to spare her arms - a boiled egg was just about the toughest food she could chop nowadays. She could march up to his room and tell him the whole truth of it all...

 _He's angry. Let him cool off first._

As hard as it was to let him marinate in his own negativity, Anne agreed. She would have a talk with Davy once he'd calmed down.

* * *

 _June 6, 1895  
_ _Prince Albert, SK_

 _Dear Anne,_

 _Forgive me for not being able to reply sooner. The hospital is in chaos right now, because of the supposed mishandling of funds: administration is at war with the director, the nurses are feuding with the administration, the doctors are all on bad terms with the director - the whole thing is a mess. The doctors and nurses have a peace treaty of sorts, but who knows how long it will hold out._

 _Thank you for your letters. Even if I haven't been able to answer, they've brought some comfort to these weary bones. At the very least, they've made me laugh, which is nice for a change - everyone here is at their wits' end. Even Kate snapped at me today, which is never a good sign._

 _I'll admit, I've never heard of typewriter-inflicted injuries before (though I once treated a man whose toes had been crushed by a calculating machine). I suppose the repetitive gestures might induce some fatigue. What have you done to relieve the soreness so far? Have you tried soaking your arms in ice baths?_

 _I wish there was more I could do, but it's hard to stay awake - I keep dozing off mid-sentence._

 _Please keep writing, but don't type. Rest those industrious fingers of yours whenever you can!_

 _Your very tired friend,_

 _Doug_

* * *

June 12, 1895

"Hey," called Anne as she entered the barn. Davy looked over his shoulder and nodded, then turned back to feel Miranda's sides. "Everything alright? Is she sick?"

Davy shook his head. "Looks like she might've grazed too close to the barbed wire. I'll need to have a proper look at it in daylight."

"We could bring in the other gas lamp," suggested Anne, but he shook his head staunchly.

"Orlando gets spooked out by flames." They both glanced over at the old horse, who paid them no mind as he munched on his oats.

"Any news from Millie?" she asked. As predicted, his shoulders tensed up.

"Nothing special," he answered tightly.

"I take it Mr. Hodgson's stance hasn't changed."

"Nope." It wasn't in Davy's nature to be short, but his future father-in-law's demands threatened to stretch his already lengthened engagement to breaking point.

"How much did he want you two to save up, before he gives you his blessing?"

Davy stood up abruptly to throw some feed into the trough. "Enough to live off for half a year, according to his 'estimations'." He set the bucket down, and picked up a pitchfork.

Anne followed him. "Tell me the figure."

He cited the number, forking fresh hay into the pen, missing her thoughtful nod.

"Millie makes less than two dollars a week nannying. And me..." he sighed. "A whole year at the factory, and only fifty dollars saved. Spent it all to pay for the help this year, and the harvest was bad last year, so I'm back to nothin'."

"Well, then, this ought to be of some help."

Davy eyed her outstretched hand suspiciously. "What is it?"

"Take it." He reached for the unmarked envelope and stared at it. Balancing the fork against his chest to free his other hand, he opened it. Upon registering its contents, his eyes grew wide as saucers.

"Anne! How did you..." his incredulous look morphed into a frown. "I can't take this. Not when you worked so hard for it."

She beamed proudly at him. "It's not my money. That's your inheritance."

"My... what?"

"From Matthew. He set it aside for me... a dowry, of sorts. He wouldn't let us spend it, even when times grew hard: after Marilla left us, I found out it had been saved for my wedding. And since I'm never getting married, it's yours."

He looked down at the envelope. "You don't know that. You can be pretty fun, and you're fine looking, for an older girl. You might get married yet."

Oh, Davy, she bit back a sad chuckle. The boy could pay a backwards compliment like no other. "Besides," he continued, "you need this worse than me."

"Than _I._ Don't worry about me - with what I'm earning now, I can afford to move out."

A cloud passed over the boy's face. "You're moving out?"

"Surely you didn't expect me to stick around? You and Millie will want to start a family. You two'll need some privacy, you won't want me getting underfoot."

"I don't want you to go." He was an eight year old boy again, clinging to her skirt as she readied herself to leave for Redmond.

"We can discuss this later - I'm not going anywhere yet," she offered him a reassuring smile. "Don't you want to share the good news with Millie first?"

His face lit up like a candelabra at the notion. "I'll write her right now!" The forgotten animals watched, nonplussed, as he dropped the pitchfork and raced out of the barn. Anne's smile deepened when his footsteps came running back.

"Do you think the post office is still open? I might telephone her instead."

"It's closed, but you can try the Bells'. I'm sure they'd let you use theirs."

"Good idea!" And he was off once more. Orlando fixed Anne with a reproachful glare: she ought to call him back, ask him to leave the envelope safely at home.

"Oh, let him be happy," she chided, picking up the pitchfork and setting it against the wall. He hadn't been in such a good mood for so long...

His excited stomps returned once more. "Hold this for me, please?" he thrust the envelope in her hands. Before Anne could reply, Davy threw his arms around her and squeezed her in the tightest embrace she'd ever received.

* * *

June 19, 1895

The forest was quiet as a church: the trees formed a reverent arch with their branches, ready to welcome and shelter any passerby. The creek slithered along, keeping its trickle at a subdued murmur. Even the critters observed a respectfully muted tone, despite the spring madness which normally urged them call out, and chase, and mate every year.

Lying down and looking up, Anne gripped the edges of the blanket she'd spread on _the_ spot, taking in deep breaths of sweet summer air.

Life had always gone too fast for her taste. While everyone around her was in a hurry to grow up, to move on to the next stage, Anne had longed for more time, to stay where she was just a bit longer.

When her Avonlea schoolmates complained about being babied by their mothers, Anne had prayed that Matthew and Marilla would never treat her like an adult. When all the girls began to blossom and grow curves, Anne had pretended to be as upset as Jane Andrews to develop last, when secretly, she was glad about not being confined to a corset.

Upon graduating from Queens, she'd been forced to listen to everyone's grand plans for the future. Her own situation was submitted to everyone's curiosity and scrutiny until Matthew's passing - and then, she'd been relieved to be needed home, where she could keep an eye on Marilla. Ever the knight in shining armour, Gilbert had laid down his cape, in form of the Avonlea school teaching position, and enabled Anne to stay within the nurturing perimeter of Matthew's treasured land.

Going to Redmond had been a big step: eventually, her reluctance to leave was outweighed by her thirst for education, and also the need to make Marilla proud. If she never married and had children, as had done several of her peers already, at least she would climb the echelons of academic excellence, as high up as she could go. With Gilbert by her side, it leaving wasn't so daunting.

Their fellow Islanders had all progressed in the four years they'd been gone. While Anne was having a hard time adjusting to seeing her bosom friend nursing a baby of her own, Gilbert had broken into a sprint: the insufferable boy had skipped past everyone else, racing straight for the finish line. This shook Anne to the core: she been desperate enough to vow that if, by some miracle, Gilbert were to survive typhoid, she would ask him to propose again, and promise to say yes this time.

Face to face with her frail chum on the mend, she'd faltered. As they wandered slowly to Hester Gray's garden, she'd found herself unable go through with it: he was meant for medical school, and a brilliant carrier as surgeon in a big city hospital. Anne respected and admired his ambitions, but she couldn't follow him, and leave Marilla.

Poor Marilla had never made it to her graduation, though she _had_ been proud: she'd said so many times, on her sickbed. "You never showed interest in marriage," she'd reflected on her last day above ground. "Roy...?"

Anne shook her head earnestly. "He wasn't the one for me."

"You don't want... a family..."

Smiling through her tears, Anne took the wrinkled hand and held it to her own cheek. "You're my family. And Diana, and Rachel, Davy and Dora, the Blythes... they're my family."

The pale lips smiled back at her. "That's right. You built your family. Not everything is given. Anne..." A grave look descended upon her face then. "Don't be afraid... to love... make a family. Being different...is fine."

Marilla's parting words had validated what Anne had already decided: she would never marry. She'd had her chances, and had been right to turn them all down. Instead, she would take care of the twins, keep Green Gables running, and stay close to her family. But even Davy and Dora had moved on with their lives: Davy first, even before Marilla's passing, and Dora one month after.

It had taken two years and seven days for the shock of Gilbert's death to wear off. She hadn't thought it possible to recover at all - and perhaps she hadn't, if the voice in her head and New Year visitations were any indication. However, his latest apparition had been a wake up call: she could see now that she'd been lagging, unwilling to move on. Green Gables had been a convenient excuse to stay anchored, helping her dig her feet into the ground to resist the pull of time.

 _You're alive and I'm not._

He'd been right, as usual. Death hadn't waited patiently for Gilbert to live out his life: why would it wait for Anne?

With her eyes open, she'd seen the train of life zooming past her, and had jumped on. Used to standing still, she now clung desperately to the handrail while life hurtled on at breakneck speed.

For the first time, she recognized that the life might be nicer with a partner, someone to make the journey less lonely.

 _And what am I, chopped liver?_

Anne smiled and closed her eyes.


	11. 1895: July 28 - December 31

**AN: Dear readers,**

 **This is the last chapter in which the plot doesn't advance (much), pinkie swear! I apologize for its length, but there were some subjects to touch before we can get to the action! Anne will get her butt into gear after this, I promise! Please don't give up on me now.  
**

 **Also, I would like to issue an apology for historical inaccuracy in the previous chapter: Diana measures Davy's height in centimeters instead of inches. Some further research indicated that Canada did implement the metric system around that time - but only by 1907! From now on, I'll keep the imperial system in place. Thank you, oz diva, for holding me accountable! :)**

 **And as always, thank you all for reading and reviewing. Feeling the love!**

* * *

July 28, 1895

Millie was a vision in white, all puffed sleeves and fine lace. Davy smiled at her adoringly, handsome as ever in his smart suit. All of Avonlea had gathered on the lawn to witness the happy occasion.

"David and Millicent have confirmed their promises by the joining of hands, and by their vows before God. Therefore, I proclaim that they are now husband and-"

"Wait!"

The unexpected interjection elicited a wave of gasps. Everyone stared as Marilla stood up from the front row and pointed at the minister. "You can't perform the ceremony here."

"Whatever do you mean?" asked the poor confused man, gesturing to the couple before him. "I just did!"

"There's never been a wedding here before. If anyone gets married, it has to be Anne."

Murmurs spread across the crowd: Anne could feel her cheeks heating as the attention was shifted onto her. "But I'm not getting married, I can't!" she tried to speak out, but her voice resisted stubbornly.

"Well, Anne?" the minister asked impatiently. "Are you ready? I've got other things to do, you know."

"I can't get married!" she tried again, to no avail: no sound came from her mouth. The guests' speculations grew louder. The minister stared expectantly. Davy picked at his fingernails. Could no one see how she struggled?

"I might ask her, if I thought she'd say 'yes'," challenged Gilbert, looking straight at Anne, his arms crossed.

Her heart swelled. Excitement bubbled up in her chest - it was what she'd always wanted, deep down. Even though the prospect was frightening, she knew that it would be the most wonderful thing, to marry Gilbert Blythe.

"Yes!" she tried to shout, but again, nothing came. "Yes, yes! YES!"

"Didn't think so," shrugged Gilbert. "If you truly wanted to marry me, you would have said something by now."

"But I said 'yes'!" she called helplessly after his retreating form.

"You've ruined everything, you selfish woman!" cried Millie as she threw her bouquet to the ground and stormed off.

"I've got work to do in the fields." Davy shrugged off his jacket and went the other way. Marilla and Gilbert turned to walk away, and Anne tried with all her might to get her voice to work-

-only to wake up to the sound of her own scream.

Her fingers were shaking too hard to light the candle, so Anne got dressed in the dark. She knew that it had just been a dream, a horrible nightmare brought on by the interactions ever since the news of the wedding date had spread, via Ralph Andrews. Mrs Harmon hadn't wasted too much time on congratulations, and got straight to inquiring about the guest list, her beady eyes brimming with curiosity. Mrs Spurgeon had stated that it was about time Green Gables saw such a happy occasion, and Mrs Sloane had sympathized - wasn't it a shock that Anne's own wedding hadn't come first? Mrs Pye had been properly scandalized - two orphans residing on Matthew Cuthbert's land, and opening its gates to the whole town? Anne didn't have the nerve to tell the most unpleasant woman that no one with the surname 'Pye' would be invited.

She considered sneaking out to the forest, but it didn't feel as safe as it once had been. The aftertaste of her night visions lingered unpleasantly... she decided to get some work done instead.

* * *

 _August 14, 1895  
_ _Montréal, QC_

 _Greetings from Québec!_

 _You might wonder what I'm doing here. Would you believe me if I told you I was on a self-imposed holiday?_

 _Well, you should. After my last letter, the atmosphere at the hospital got to be so toxic that even our patients were suffering from it. And finally, one of our nurses passed out during an extended shift, right in the hall. We'd hoped the issues would be resolved before something like this could happen, but realistically, we all knew someone would collapse eventually._

 _Direction swooped in and did what it always does: quickly removed her from sight, pacified her with a hefty cash compensation for her troubles (as if fainting were an extra service performed), and asked us all to stay silent out of consideration - it wouldn't do to embarrass the poor girl any further, would it?_

 _Well, that did it for me. The day following the incident, I let the director know that I was going to take my mandatory week of training right then. I reminded him that the hospital would cover the expenses of my trip,_ _as delineated in my contract, and casually dropped in the fact that I might take a few interviews while I was at it._

 _I may be jobless by the time I return. For all I know, I've been sacked already, but no matter: I'm in Montréal now, at an anesthesiology conference. There aren't many doctors in attendance, mostly nurses and chemists, but I am learning new things._ _If the lectures here border on boring, I am at least able to appreciate the crowd. These lecturers are very eager to impart their knowledge: inhaling devices, ingestible drugs... I'll reluctantly admit that their enthusiasm has started to rub off on me._

 _It appears I am not the only one making big life changes! Davy must be very pleased. I imagine he and his intended will be married as soon as they find some place to live. Will they stay near you to help with the farm? If not, I suppose you could hire some help, as you have in the past. Your expanding business will certainly allow for it - though you best take heed of this physician's advice, if you want to keep your hands in working condition: arms in iced water, once a day, at the end of the day (or whenever you're done typing). If this leaves you feeling unpleasantly chilled, a hot bath afterwards is alright. You might throw in some Epsom salts for good measure - but cold water first._

 _Two more days of lectures before I have to go back and face the music. I'll let you know whether I'm still employed when I get home. If not, I will forward you my new address - perhaps I'll see if Kate won't let me be her 'muffin slave' (I still haven't quite figured that one out)._

 _Your soon-to-be-jobless friend,_

 _Doug_

* * *

September 7, 1895

"I think they turned out better this time!" Anne chattered fluently, carrying the tray out onto the porch. "You were right about the crust - I used cold water instead of hot, and it's holding up beautifully against the custard. See how the bottom is perfectly golden brown! Why, Diana, you're not having any?"

A more observant host would have noticed the air of trepidation on their guest's face, but so caught up was Anne in her success (a rare occurrence in the kitchen) that she remained candidly oblivious. Unwilling to offend her dear friend, Diana forced a smile and reached for one of the tartelettes* with an unsteady hand. Just one bite would buy her enough time to think of an excuse to go home.

"The pastry has definitely improved, but it's the custard I'm worried about. It's not too eggy, is it? It seemed liquid when I was whisking it, so I added an extra yolk, and - oh!" Her rantings finally ceased as Diana bolted off her seat and scampered around the side of the house.

"Di!" Anne ran after her, unmindful of the chair she'd knocked over, alarmed by the most ungraceful sounds emanating from that dainty mouth.

"I'm so sorry!" she wailed penitently, rubbing Diana's back. "I honestly didn't think they were that bad! I never would have served them to you, had I known-"

Interrupted by another wave of retching, Anne could do nothing but sooth her friend with reassuring pets, and keep her from tumbling forward into the rosebushes. "I'll drive you home," she announced as Diana had spat out what was hopefully the last of it.

"I don't think I could make it right now," Diana groaned as she caught her breath. "I just need to rest for a bit."

"Of course. Let's get you indoors."

The porch steps were taken slowly, so as not to jostle the upset stomach: once inside, the sitting room couch seemed a much more realistic goal than ascending an entire flight of stairs to the bedroom. Anne laid down her patient and quickly fetched a glass of cool water.

"Slow sips," she instructed as she held out the drink. Once the trembling fingers had a good grasp on it, Anne disappeared again, to return seconds later with a small basin of water and a cloth.

"I'm ever so sorry, darling," she reiterated, wringing out the cloth. "I should have tried one of the tartelettes before serving them. I just couldn't help but hope that since they _looked_ so delectable, they couldn't possibly _taste-_ "

"Let us not talk about food for a bit," croaked Diana, "unless you care for a repeat performance."

"That was the repeat performance," Anne somehow found it in her to tease. "Remember how I poisoned you, my very first time hosting tea in this very parlor?"

"How could I forget?" Diana grimaced valiantly. "I might have even hit that very same spot in the bushes."

"No, dear, those were your mother's bushes," the corner of Anne's mouth tilted as she moved the damp cloth to her friend's temple.

"Oh, that's right," sighed Diana. "Lord, but I was so sick."

"I'll say! I still can't believe how readily you forgave me." Anne freshened the cloth once and squeezed it out over the basin before bathing her friend's cheeks. "I've never seen you so violently ill, not even when you were-"

Anne's eyes widened with realization, and her jaw dropped. "Diana Wright! You're with child!"

Her friend gave no response but a pained grin.

"But you said nothing!"

"It's too soon," she explained, shutting her eyes.

"Whatever do you mean?" Anne frowned: she'd been the very first soul to find out about Freddie's conception (in an incident much like this one), and the second informed of Small Anne's (well, third, if the doctor was to be considered).

"It's too early to feel like this. Hardly two months in - it isn't normal."

"But dear, you can't be exactly certain about the timing: it could be more than two months. What did Dr. Porter have to say?"

"He's not overly concerned - said it's all in my head. And it is most certainly less than two months - actually, it will be exactly two months, come Saturday."

"How do y- oh, for crying out loud!" Anne screwed her eyes shut, ignoring Diana's weak chuckles. "I'm getting you home, before Fred kills me for getting you into this state."

"I daresay he was the one to get me in this state."

"Di!" cried Anne, exasperated. "Can't you at least _pretend_ to be a modest, married woman, for once?"

"Oh - don't make me laugh," moaned Diana.

"Or what?"

Anne moved the water basin just in time to find out.

* * *

 _September 22, 1895  
Prince Albert, SK_

 _Dear Anne,_

 _Please forgive the tone of my last letter. Those were the rantings of an overworked and poorly rested man,_ _I never meant to worry you. The sleep I was able to get at the hotel and on the train has gone a long way to restore my good humor, and I feel more level headed than I have in a long time._

 _I also apologize for failing to inform you of my itinerary earlier, but it was decided in the heat of a moment: there was just time enough to toss my things into a valise before rushing to the station. I was only in Montréal for five days, and had to sign the attendance sheets of at least two lectures a day for my trip to be reimbursed. Whatever time I had outside of learning how to render patients unconscious, was spent putting my own self to sleep (without artifice). Amazing, what good fifteen hours of sleep in a row can do a fellow._

 _No time for such indulgences these days: as it turns out, I am not unemployed. Quite the contrary! I've been offered a promotion. Apparently, my walk out was not the only one - in my absence, one fifth of the medical staff turned in their resignation. Our poor director is desperate - the two hospitals in Montréal where I was interviewed have already called him (as his name is featured right at the top of my reference list). In the end, I've agreed to stay here for a trial period: by the end of which, if the hospital is not fully restaffed, I will have to walk away._

 _I did not realize that Davy and his wife would take over Green Gables. Will you be moving out, then? Without many ties to Avonlea, I suppose you're free to live out your life as you please. Where will you go?_

 _Your friend,_

 _Doug  
_

 _PS: Please extend my congratulations to the Wrights. Violent illness isn't all that unusual in the early stages of pregnancy: if you are concerned, though, trust your gut (or Mrs. Wright's). Describe the symptoms to me (call if it is an emergency) and I will help if I am able._

* * *

October 1, 1895

"How are the wedding plans coming along, dear? I would love to lend a hand."

It was an innocent question, and poor Mrs. Blythe was stunned when the girl inexplicably burst into tears.

Anne felt herself being pressed against the tender woman's bosom: the gesture made her cry even harder. Even if she weren't sobbing hysterically, there was no way of explaining the emotions that were being stirred up in her. How could she phrase a sentiment so hurtful, she could hardly admit it to herself? There was an ugly truth, one of many, deep down within her... one that would dredge up too much pain.

"I'm...fine," Anne hiccuped. She held on tighter, guiltily absorbing the comfort offered by the person who should have been her mother-in-law. Everything would be fine after a good cry.

* * *

 _October 19, 1895  
Prince Albert, SK_

 _Dear Anne,_

 _I know what you're trying to do, and I can tell you right now that it won't work. I fell for that one before, I'm not likely to fall for it again._ _Yes, I am following Gilbert's instructions to keep an eye on you. But I also have my own interest in the matter - you are a friend, and I would like to know what's happening in your life._

 _If you weren't hell-bent on finding fault with my wording every time I express concern for you, I would apologize._ _You are already aware of my motives, Anne: I want to stay informed of your whereabouts because I want to know that you're alright. Would it be so awful, for me to know where you live? What do you think I'm going to do, track you down and barge into your home?_

 _Nothing I said was in any way insulting or demeaning, and you know it. So please,_ _stop trying to pick a fight. Gilbert never doubted your ability to take care of yourself - he just wanted you to be well surrounded. I know you have your entourage in Avonlea, but when the Wrights' new baby comes, and Davy gets married, who will you have? Mrs. Blythe isn't going to be with us forever... and then, what?_

 _Come to Prince Albert. You liked it well enough, didn't you? Someone with your credentials could make a decent living here. You don't have to commit to it straight away, of course - just give it a try._ _If you have no set plans for the holidays, spend them here. I'll be at the hospital, as always, keeping the patients merry at Christmastime. You could help me drum up some mischief for the New Year._

 _Still your friend,_

 _Doug_

* * *

November 18, 1895

The White Parlor was a prominent tearoom in White Sands. Whenever Anne came to visit Mrs Lynde or run some errands, she always made sure to allot some time for a pastry and a cup of tea before returning to Avonlea.

Today, though, it was with apprehension that she stepped into the establishment. The delicious aroma of cinnamon permeating the air did little to soothe her nerves as she made her way to the table with one empty seat.

"Sorry I'm late," she apologized as she took her place in front of Millie.

"No worries! It gave me some time to look at their sweets display. I can never make up my mind in here, they're all so tempting! Have you ever had their petit fours? They're simply divine."

Anne couldn't help but smile at the young girl's enthusiasm. She was partial to the scones herself, but chose to go along with the suggestion of sharing a few of the miniature iced cakes. No sense in creating unnecessary conflict.

"I look forward to helping out with the shopping," she prevaricated stiffly when their selection had been made and tea had been poured.

Millie set down her cup with a guilty air. "I'm so sorry to have brought you up here on false pretence, Miss Shirley. I did want to see you about the wedding - to talk about an important matter. Well, two, actually."

Anne swallowed convulsively, her nerves in tatters. "Alright." She sat up straight with her shoulders back, subconsciously bracing herself.

"First off, I hope you aren't offended that I haven't asked you to be a bridesmaid. You see, I would have," Millie quickly explained, "but you're Davy's only living relative aside from Dora. I didn't want him to have to stand alone. I know Ralph Andrews has agreed to be his best man, but it's not the same - he's not family, not really."

At this, Anne felt her insides thaw a bit, and her mouth curled into a small but genuine smile. "If we're being technical, I'm not exactly a blood relation, either."

"But you are his family, Miss Shirley!" insisted Millie with wide-eyed conviction. "And mine as well, soon."

The conversation paused for delivery of the petit fours to their table, allowing for Anne to digest the implications. This wasn't bad at all - it was warm, and sweet. She'd been hung up ever since that nightmare: she should have known better. Millie was as kind as they came, why should Anne have expected her to be any different now?

Encouraged by the twinkle in the older woman's eyes, Millie continued: "And since we're to be related, I wanted to bring up future living arrangements. Davy mentioned that you're thinking of leaving some time after we get married. I just wanted to say... please, don't rush out on our account. You might have given us Green Gables, and we'll always be grateful for your help, but it's still rightfully yours as well. You won't need to take care of us: my mother's tried to scare me away from the farm life, but I'm confident enough in my housekeeping skills, and while I'm sure Davy would be fine with me, I know he would miss you terribly... goodness, I'm babbling!"

Anne's affectionate smile broadened, and she rested her hand on top of Millie's. "I'm not quite sure what what will happen after the wedding, but I've promised Davy to hold off my departure until the both of you are well settled in, and a sure alternative presents itself to me." Anne looked straight into the girl's aqueous turquoise eyes. "And thank you for agreeing to get married at Green Gables'. Marilla would have been so pleased, and Matthew as well - he would have loved you so, both of you."

It took some control, but both ladies managed to hold in their tears. "I promise to take excellent care of the house. Miss Shirley, I know how much it means to you - and you know how much it means to us."

"Now, Millie," intoned Anne briskly. "If we're to be family, won't you call me 'Anne'?"

The girl beamed at her. "Anne, shall we tuck into these cakes? I simply cannot hold off any longer, the mere sight of them is making me salivate! This one has lemon icing - doesn't it look marvellous?"

Anne's smile lasted through the degustation. Her mouth was overwhelmed by frosting, saccharine fondant, and jam that seemed to contain more sugar than fruit - but nothing could spoil the sweetness of Millie Hodgson, soon-to-be Keith.

* * *

 _December 11, 1895  
_ _Prince Albert, SK_

 _Dear Anne,_

 _Thank you for your letter, as well as the early Christmas present. Mine will arrive late - the way our correspondence has been going, I wasn't sure sending you a gift would be appropriate. Look out for a parcel addressed to Green Gables - I'm also including something for Mrs. Blythe._

 _The holidays here will be grim: how could they not be, at a hospital? But we do our best to spread some cheer. We spruce up our regular rounds with readings of tales and poetry, and we sneak in treats for the children. We also like to traumatize the patients with our terrible carolling ensemble - Gilbert's off-key baritone is sorely missed, even though without him, we are a bit less dodgy._

 _Spending a quiet New Year alone sounds a bit sad and unnecessary, if you ask me. There is still time to change your mind - hop on a train, it really is that easy._

 _Your friend,_

 _Doug_

* * *

December 31, 1895

Anne waited in front of the fireplace, the crackling log the only noise in the otherwise silent house. Davy, along with all of the 'young' crowd, was at the Andrews' bonfire, and the Wrights were ringing in the New Year quietly. They'd still invited her over, but Anne had an inkling that Diana was in no shape to host. She'd pay them a visit tomorrow, and offer to take the children sledding.

Tonight, though, Anne had wanted to be at home. He would be here any moment, and she needed for them to be alone, without any interruptions.

"Thatsounds promising!" Gilbert wagged his eyebrows.

At the sight of his elegantly clad apparition, the list of forty-two questions Anne had prepared fled from her mind, and she ran into his arms. He caught her against his chest with an _oomf._

"Goodness!" he exclaimed. "I take it you've missed me."

Her arms tightened around him, and she felt the low rumble of his chuckles reverberate through his thorax. "You can strangle me all you want - it's not as if you can kill me, after all - but it will make talking a tad complicated, don't you think?"

"Don't tease, Gil," she implored, loosening her grip on his neck.

"Where's the fun in that?" he pulled back, and she caught the twinkle in his hazel eyes. "Come, let's sit."

As they settled down on the rug before the fireplace, Anne took a moment to appreciate his form. This Gilbert looked sharp in his smart navy blue suit, his white shirt impeccably starched, his hair carefully slicked into dark brown waves.

"I've seen you like this before," she frowned thoughtfully. "But when...?"

"Convocation," he supplied with a grin.

"That's it!" The memory came back to her suddenly. "Christine kept going on about how you'd chosen the color to complement her eyes."

"Right. Because that was my main concern when getting dressed."

Anne reached to straighten his silver tie. "You look very handsome."

"I see you dressed up for me as well," he nodded at her green gown.

"You liked this one," she stated, smoothing out her embroidered skirt.

"I did," he agreed, and shifted his arm so that she could lean against his side.

Comforted by his touch, Anne sighed. "We could have had this."

"We have this now."

"I mean, in real life."

He turned his head to face her: she could feel the heat of his gaze over the flames. "Then why did you say 'no' when I asked?"

"I was scared."

"Is that all?"

"I wasn't ready, Gil. I needed more time. If I'd known..." she trailed off.

"Then what? You would have said accepted?" He pulled back and held her at arm's length. "Tell me, Anne. If I'd asked you a third time, that day in Hester Gray's garden, would you have said yes?"

She squirmed at the hardened traits of his face. "Probably."

He shook his head. "That's not good enough. I put my pride on the line for you, Anne. Twice! And for a while, I lost your friendship, the beautiful understanding we already had. So I vowed never to let anything come between us again - even my unwelcome romantic feelings."

"They weren't unwelcome!" she protested.

"Oh, but they were. Every time I tried to get closer, you pulled back - just like you're doing now, see?"

"I'm not pulling back!" she insisted. "I'm not going anywhere."

Possessed by a flash of bravery, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his, then quickly drew back. They blinked at each other, both stunned into silence. Gilbert was the first to regain his senses.

"Well," he exhaled forcefully.

"I'm sorry," said Anne sadly. "The truth is...I don't know whether I would have said yes, had you asked a third time. I thought we were too different, back then... now, I'm starting to see that it wouldn't have mattered."

"I didn't think we were all that different," defended Gilbert, seemingly offended. "We shared the same dreams, didn't we?"

Anne pondered his statement. "I suppose," she said slowly. "Oh, if only I hadn't been so afraid of finding out what the truth might hold!"

"Just like you were too afraid to ask Doug about his family history?" he raised an eyebrow at her.

"You just had to bring him up," she muttered. "Fine, then, you tell me: ishe an orphan?"

"You'll have to ask him that."

She stared at the fire, and her scowl melted. The energy radiating from beside her was too comforting. "We could have been happy."

"We can't change that," he reminded her. Anne let the sadness of truth weigh down on her for a moment, then returned to the warmth of his arms.

"No, but we have this, now."

* * *

 ***tartelette: a small custard tart (about the size of a cookie), usually topped with fresh fruit**


	12. 1896: January 1 - March 17

January 1, 1896

"How was the bonfire last night?" asked Anne as Davy sat down for breakfast. "I didn't hear you come in."

"I wasn't so late - made it here a little after ten o'clock. You'd already turned in, by then."

"I had?"

Davy cocked his head, unsure of how to interpret her obvious surprise. "Apparently. I mean, the fireplace was cold when I got back, so I'd guessed you'd gone to bed early. Say, are you feeling alright?"

"Oh? Yes. I mean, no, I did feel tired last night - which is why I went to bed early, as you saw."

Anne was never more thankful that Davy's insatiable curiosity, which had been a trademark of his as a boy, had faded over the years into something bordering disinterest of anything that didn't regard him directly. The young lad, who once would have posed an endless chain of questions, merely shrugged and sat back in his chair.

Having closely avoided a grilling, Anne poured the tea and gazed out the window thoughtfully.

The previous night hadn't conformed to her fantasies: it had actually surpassed them. Kissing Gilbert by the fireside had been so incredibly wonderful, the sensation beyond anything she'd ever imagined possible. Basking in this new closeness to him, Anne had wanted the moment to last forever. Sitting with his arms protectively wrapped around her, breathing in unison as they watched the flames dance before them...

According to Davy's timeline, her arduous efforts to stay awake had been in vain: she didn't even remember falling asleep. She'd simply woken up at dawn with no recollection of getting into her bed, or changing into her nightgown. Had Gilbert carried her upstairs? At any rate, he must have put out the fire downstairs before Davy's return.

"What time are we heading out?"

It took Anne one second to snap out of her reverie, and another to process the question. "Soon, if that's alright. I want to get there before the snow starts melting."

"It won't melt," assured Davy. "Perfect day for sledding. Let me go check on the barn before we go."

Anne tried to work up some cheer as she collected the dishes. Today would be fun, she decided: the slope on the Wrights' property would be blanketed in crystalline white, and the children would take turns on the sled. Davy would start a snow war and lose on purpose, and then there would be hot cocoa and some quiet time with Diana.

She hoped the merriment would suffice to fill in the emptiness in her chest. As satisfying as her evening had been, it had also left her with an odd ache. It felt almost as though someone had hollowed her chest, leaving it a cold cavity: for she knew that it would be another year before Gilbert would reappear.

* * *

 _Prince Albert, SK  
January 3, 1896_

 _Dear Anne,_

 _There is no need to apologize. I do understand your reluctance to travel in this terrible weather - having done it myself, I wouldn't particularly recommend it. My holidays were fine, I hope yours were as well._

 _How is the planning going? I'm glad you're getting help from Mrs Wright and Mrs Blythe. I'm assuming Davy has friends to help set up Green Gables for the big day? If not, surely Mr Wright would lend a hand. I'll admit, I don't know what planning goes into a home wedding. How many guests are you expecting to host? Or is this one of these events where the whole village is invited to attend?_

 _Kate sends her best, and says that you are overdue for a visit. I must agree with her: would you come to see us in the summer?_

 _Your friend,_

 _Doug  
_

* * *

January 10, 1896

"Anne, help! Save me!" cried Davy before receiving a face full of snow.

"You're on your own," she called back, and shut the kitchen window. She and Fred watched as Freddie threw his arms around Davy's shoulders with a ferocious war cry. The boy held the man still for Small Anne to have her turn at a vicious attack, using powdery snow as her weapon. The captive made a show of spitting and clearing his eyes, making the children giggle.

"He'll make a great father," commented Fred.

"I've no doubt," agreed Anne.

"Thank you so much for taking the kids this morning. Di really needed the rest - didn't sleep well last night."

"It's no problem. We love having them with us." It was true: every moment spent with them was precious. Anne regretted not having made enough time for them in the previous years. "What did Dr Porter say?"

Fred's lips twisted into a frown. "He still doesn't see anything wrong. Just says she shouldn't overexert herself, and drink fluids."

Anne furrowed her brow. "That's it?"

It seemed that in Diana's case, the third time was not a charm. The woman had positively glowed the first two times around, the wondrous smile she wore reflected in her twinkling eyes. She had gotten very big near the last months, but only in the front: her stomach was a perky bubble, one which she and Fred had taken so much pleasure in holding and caressing.

This go 'round, Diana had grown big early on, the bulk spread evenly across her body: the weight she'd gained showed in her face, breasts, rump, and even in her limbs. Her stomach had expanded - but so had the rest of her, making it unclear whether she was carrying a baby or a sack of wheat under her dress.

Her condition had made her prone to dizzying mood swings, and worse yet, extreme exhaustion. This worried both her husband and her bosom friend, and the fact that the old town doctor refused to diagnose her with anything other than a 'severe case of pregnancy' only served to fuel their concern.

"Mercy! I surrender!" they heard Davy beg outside, indicating that a ceasefire was about to take place. The children cheered, and by the time the frosted threesome reached the backdoor, Anne had set the table for tea.

"We won, Papa!" declared Small Anne, decorating the floor with small puddles of melted snow.

"Shoes off, duckling," reminded her father. "You won, did you?"

"We creamed him!" gloated Freddie as their victim appeared at the doorway, frosted from head to toe.

"I can see that," acknowledged Fred with an indulgent smile.

As Anne watched Davy bend over to shake the snow from his hair and brush down his damp trousers, she couldn't help but wonder if Gilbert would have been this patient. Somehow, it was hard to picture him caked in snow up to his eyebrows. Would he have knelt down in the cold as well, allowing toddlers to pelt him endlessly, and stuff ice down his collar? Would he have laughed at being chilled and wet all over, and made sure both kids were given warm blankets before accepting one for himself?

She set her incertitude to the side for the moment being and went about serving tea, but couldn't completely brush off the guilt that came with this new realization.

* * *

 _January 27, 1896  
Charlottetown, PEI_

 _Dear Anne,_

 _Thank you for the letter, as well as the gift. The lace is very pretty, and I shall sew it onto my new purse, which I cannot wait to show you. The color is quite vivid: it is a peacock shade of blue, so the lace will soften its appearance a bit._

 _I am not sure as of yet how long I will be able to stay. Obviously, I will arrive in time for the ceremony - by the eve, at the very latest. To come sooner would cause some trouble, seeing as Sarah Preston's engagement party takes place earlier that week. I've already agreed to attend with Andy, and it wouldn't be fair on either of them if I were to back out. Davy won't mind either way - there isn't much to do for a lady on the groom's side._

 _I hope you are both well. Do let me know if you pass through Charlottetown, it would be lovely to meet up._

 _With love,_

 _Dora_

* * *

February 13, 1896

It was most definitely a Jonah day.

Anne had started the morning with a crick in her neck, the result of falling asleep in her office chair. The buggy had chosen today of all days to break down, and so she had gone to town on foot. An icy gust of wind assaulted her midway, thrusting her good leather portfolio down in the snow with the force of a bully.

Mr Sloane wasn't any kinder: he'd yelled at her, insisting that there were typing errors in his letter. After twenty minutes of trying to convince the stubborn man the past participle of 'bind' was not 'binded' but 'bound' (as in, 'bound to strangle someone'), she'd simply given up and let him have his letter at a discount (which she suspected might have been his goal all along).

The rest of the day followed accordingly: Anne stepped into a puddle of slush, and it seeped straight through to her stockings. The General Store was still out of the cream colored thread, and _no_ , Miss Nilson didn't know when the shipment would come in, and _no_ , Anne couldn't make do with white thread, it had to be cream.

To top it all, she'd run into Josie and Billy Andrew's wife, both of whom had done their best to crush the little optimism Anne had left by reminding her of how devastatingly lacking life was before having children, and how working was a woman's way to admit that she simply wasn't suitable for marriage. By the time she'd made it home, she'd worked up such a bad mood that it seemed nothing could make it better.

"Anne, is that you?" Davy called from upstairs.

"Who else would it be?" she grumbled, hanging her hat.

"I went to telephone Millie today," he said, coming down the stairs. "She and her father had a talk, and... well, there's been some change in plans, things we ought to go over."

"No bad news, please," she begged as he helped her out of her coat. "I don't think I could handle anymore."

"It's not bad news exactly." He hung the item and bit his lip. "It's just that, Mr. Hodgson wants to participate in the wedding planning..."

* * *

February 14, 1896

"He said _WHAT_?"

"Di, please, don't excite yourself."

"Excite myself? Anne, it is the middle of February, and the ceremony is set for mid-March! We've already set aside the date..."

"It's-"

"...not to mention all the invitations were sent out! _Everyone_ has committed..."

"That-"

"...and guests are coming in from out of town! We can't possibly ask them to change their travel plans now!"

"We wont-"

"If that man thinks he can just dismiss all of our planning with the wave of a hand..."

"He can't, and he won't."

" _Anne Shirley_ , _you are not taking this seriously_! We've worked so hard to make sure everything is perfect-"

"Everything will be fine. And if you don't calm down, Fred is going to kick me out." Anne waited for her hysterical friend to heave out a few angry breaths before asking: "Alright?"

Diana's face was still a violent shade of fuchsia, but the fury that had bewitched her eyes was dissipating. "Alright," she nodded when she'd gained some control over her emotions.

"Mr Hodgson booked the hotel in White Sands for the 19th. We'll still have the party at Green Gables on the 18th, as planned. This way, we won't have to change the invitations, and our hard work won't go to waste."

"But there can't be two weddings! What should we do about the reverend? He's already agreed to perform the ceremony!"

"So, he will be a guest at Green Gables, and celebrate with us."

"Everything alright in here?" Fred's red face poked in the kitchen. "I thought I heard shouting..."

"We're fine. Just chatting." Diana's tone was too sour to be convincing, and he hesitated in the doorway for a beat before nodding and disappearing.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I know how much you invested in this - I never could have done it without your help. We can still throw a lovely reception of our own, that will put the Hodgsons' banquet to shame!"

"The White Sands Hotel is actually quite elegant," admitted Diana through her scowl. "They have a chandelier in the ballroom, and all their seats are cushioned with velvet."

"See? It'll be fine, Di. Let the man flaunt his fortune, and throw them a fancy ball. Our own event will be the epitome of conviviality, and then we will go enjoy an evening at White Sands on Mr. Hodgson's dime."

At this Diana did smile, albeit evilly. "Oh, I intend to."

* * *

February 25, 1896

Davy sat patiently in what was still known as Matthew's armchair. The crackling fire lulled him into a state of comfort, and he'd been promised plum puffs - on condition that he dedicate the following half hour to going over wedding details with Anne.

"I've got a list from Diana," she'd announced, brandishing the offending item in one hand, the other gesturing at the plate of pastries just out of his reach. Davy swallowed a sigh, longing for the days of nonstop typing: the cacophony of her infernal machine was starting to seem preferable to going over the most trivial details that no one would notice. Who cared if he wore a handkerchief rather than a flower in his vest pocket, and who could tell the difference between burgundy and maroon? Anne's puffs never came out as good as Marilla's, he reflected sullenly - but they were still better than nothing.

"Alright," he said, trying for a helpful tone.

"Right, then: first item. When was the last time you tried on your dress shirt, and does it still fit?"

"Um... last Christmas, and yes, it still fits."

"Will Ralph be giving a speech on the 18th, and if so, how long will it last?"

"How am I s'posed to know?" The glare Anne sent him indicated he'd missed his mark. "I'll find out."

"Thank you. Let's see... ah: have you chosen a waltz for your first dance?"

"Millie has. I can ask her the name of it."

"Please do. Has she confirmed the color theme for the bridesmaids?"

"White."

"Alright, moving on: Dora is arriving on the 17th. Mr Kelly is driving her here, he'll be staying at the White Sands Hotel."

"You mean, Andy Wallace."

"No, I mean Mr Kelly. She wrote me to let me know he was now escorting her."

"She told me she was bringing Andy."

"When was the letter postmarked?"

Davy groaned as they each rushed to their respective rooms to search for their letters, every step he took distancing him painfully from the plum puffs.

"Found it!" called Anne, emerging from her room victorious. "Dated February 3: _...seeing as Andy would prefer not to have to drive such a long distance, I will be traveling with Liam Kelly._ "

"Well, mine is from February 6: ... _since Andy cannot afford a hotel room, would there be any possibility for him to stay at Green Gables?_ "

"Most certainly not!"

"I know, I've already taken care of it: he's staying with the Andrews." Anne's eyebrows shot up. "They have a guestroom," explained Davy.

"That will be interesting," she smirked as they made their way back to the sitting room. "But they are still arriving on the 17th?"

Davy checked his own letter before reclaiming his seat. "Correct."

"Are you sure you're fine with that?"

He shrugged. "Sure."

Anne scrutinized him for any sign of hurt or rancor, but found none. Of all the twins she'd ever encountered, this pair was by far the most confusing. They'd never shared that special tightness typical of siblings born on the same day - not even the bond forged of living through the same life changing events as children could bring the two closer on an emotional level.

"We'll put her in the office, then: no sense in her taking the guest room if she's only around for a couple of days. You really don't mind? She _is_ your sister - she would come earlier, if you asked."

"It's fine. She has things to do."

"If you say so. Well, that frees up the guest room for Rachel."

"Are you sure she'll be able to take the stairs? She shouldn't even be traveling."

"You tell her that."

Davy blanched. "No way."

"She wouldn't miss this for the world. Let us just be glad she's still with us... and keep her as far as possible from Mr Hodgson."

"Amen."

" _And_ put our blasphemous habits behind us, lest she uses her cane on us."

"Ten cents says you slip before I do."

"Oh, shut up and have a plum puff."

* * *

March 1, 1896

"It seems we're in for rain," said Mrs Blythe, looking up from the napkin she was embroidering.

"Would you like us to go inside?" suggested Anne. "I could make some tea."

The woman shook her head. "I've never minded a light spring shower. It hardly matters today, at any rate - next week is when we'll need the perfect weather."

"We're all set to move the reception to Orchard Slope, should it rain on that night."

"I do hope it doesn't - we've all been waiting forever for a wedding at Green Gables! We knew, ever since you came along, that we'd finally get one."

Anne's throat tightened a fraction. "Yes, we're all looking forward to it," she replied, focusing on making her stitches as even as possible.

"And not a moment too soon! I simply cannot believe Gilbert's had to wait so long."

She froze, overcome with pain. "Davy," she choked out. "You mean Davy."

Mrs Blythe blinked, confused. "Yes, Davy, of course."

"Shall I make us some tea? I'll put the kettle on." Anne hurried inside, holding in the deluge of tears until she was safely out of sight. It wasn't the first time - Mrs Blythe's grasp on reality was loosening, and her most recent slip had Anne worrying that it would only get worse from here on.

* * *

 _March 8, 1896  
Prince Albert, SK_

 _Dear Anne,_

 _I wish I could, I really do. Normally, I would take the week off, but I have an complicated procedure scheduled for the 19th of this month. It's an important surgery - please believe that I wouldn't stay if my presence wasn't required. I wish you'd asked me earlier: I would have blocked the date. I'm sure everything will go according to plan - the bride and groom will enjoy being surrounded by friends and family, and that's all that really matters in the end._

 _Don't worry about Mrs. Wright. Bloating is normal, though unpleasant, I'll give you that. As long as she stays off her feet and keeps both food and drink down, she should be fine. Monitor her fluids intake. You can check her pulse and temperature every couple of hours or so, and bundle her up or cool her down accordingly._

 _I am truly, very sorry. Please let me know how it goes. Though there isn't much I can do from here, I'd like to extend my support._

 _Your friend,_

 _Doug_

* * *

March 13, 1896

"Oh, Diana, he is beautiful! I still can't believe you waited till morning to send word. I wanted to meet him straight away - yes, you, sweet boy!" she cooed at the wriggling bundle in her arms.

"He's not even a day old yet," Diana rolled her eyes sleepily with a good natured smile.

"He seems perfectly healthy," beamed Anne, placing the newborn back into his mother's arms. "And you, darling? Are you alright?"

"I'll be fine in time for the wedding."

"Don't you worry about that," she tucked a lock of ebony behind her friend's ear affectionately. "You need to rest."

"I've done nothing but rest," the protest was interrupted by a massive yawn. Going on her second week of bed rest, Diana's boredom was rivaled only by her extreme fatigue.

"And once Dr Porter gives you the all clear, you'll be back on your feet," promised Anne. "In the meanwhile, you need to recuperate."

Diana blew out an exasperated sigh. "I don't know why this one had to put on such a show. Neither Fred or Small Anne created such a fuss," she reprimanded her third child, nudging his tiny nose with her own.

"What matters is that you and Jack are both well," insisted Anne.

"I don't want you to go through the evening alone."

"Di - darling, please don't cry." A handkerchief was quickly located for Diana. "I will be far from alone. Rachel will be there to help out."

"Who will you dance with?" sniffed Diana, making Anne giggle. "I'm serious, Anne! If I didn't let you borrow Fred, you'd be perpetually stuck by the punch bowl, listening to the old biddies' gossip."

"There's nothing wrong with that," said Anne soothingly. "I'm sure I can find someone else to lend me their husband."

" _Anne!_ "

A loud wail from the smallest being in the room elicited a chorus of _shushs_ from the two women.

"I'll let you two rest now - no, dear, you do need tosleep, both of you. I'll check on you tomorrow."

After a kiss to her friend and honorary nephew, Anne stopped by the kitchen to bid Fred and Mrs Barry a good day before heading home. Diana was a dear for worrying, but Anne felt relieved that she wouldn't have to shuffle around Fred: as sweet and attentive as the man could be, he was a truly terrible dancer.

 _Be nice! You've done your share of toe trampling, you know.  
_

She smiled through the sadness brought on by the reminder. She would be alright - she simply wouldn't dance.

* * *

March 17, 1896

Sounds of another buggy arriving made Anne groan. She stood up from her perch on the haystack and shook out her skirts, giving herself a thorough inspection so as to drag out her moment of solitude. She was supposed to be collecting enough eggs for six pies, but had chosen to linger in the barn, for the sake of her sanity.

People were coming in and out of Green Gables, taking up the empty rooms and moving furniture, readying the place for the following day. The kitchen was occupied by an army made up of Sarah Blythe, Dora Keith and Mrs Harrison and Hannah Lynde, led fearlessly by none other than Rachel Lynde herself. Fred Wright commandeered the brigade of young men outside, assisting the groom to set up barricades of tables, lining up the chairs with military precision.

Anne had found herself a lone agent in the battle, useless on both sides. Surrounded by friends and family, she struggled to understand the loneliness that lingered within. Rachel ordering her out of the kitchen had been a sorely needed act of kindness, and judging by the voices outside growing louder, she'd probably stretched it a bit thin.

Exiting the barn, she came nose to nose with a large grey horse. "Ralph Andrews!" she squeaked, addressing the boy - well, man, really - holding its reins. "Shame on you, sneaking up on people like that!"

"Begging your pardon, Miss Shirley! I wasn't expecting to come up on any people. Davy said I could leave Blossom in the stables," explained Ralph contritely, eyeing Anne worriedly as she put a hand to her racing heart.

"Of course," her eyes softened at her former student. She held the door open while he coaxed his Blossom into an empty stall. "We appreciate all your help. Were you running another errand?"

"In a matter of speaking - had to stop by the train station."

"The train station? Goodness, I had no idea we were expecting more people. Where on Earth will they stay?"

"Anne?" Dora's voice carried from the back porch. "Do you have the eggs yet?"

Ralph blanched. "I've got to go - Davy'll be needing a hand. If you'll excuse me," he tipped his hat and left abruptly. Anne smiled knowingly and headed back towards the house to be greeted by a worried Dora.

"It's about time!" the girl sighed. "What took you so long?"

"Oh, nothing - I ran into Ralph Andrews, he just got in from the station."

A vivid blush covered Dora from her hairline to her collar. "I should bring these in, Rachel is growing impatient." She plucked the basket from her hands and hurried back inside.

Anne knew she ought to join the women inside, but the thought of being bossed around bowls of custard and tins of dough held no appeal. Instead, she made her way to the front of the house.

As she approached turned around the corner, her heart swelled with gratitude towards all the friends working hard towards Davy's special day. Fred and Mr Harrison kept the younger bunch in check, though they really were more jolly than rowdy. Ralph had gained some of his color back, and was now easily bantering with the rest as they wrestled with a large table. Davy steered at the head of the furniture, and at his side...

Her jaw dropped, and she stopped dead in her tracks. It was either her imagination that had run wild, or her eyes playing a trick on her. Struck dumb and unable to move, she stared on as the figure set the heavy table down with the others and straightened up. He smiled and dabbed at his glistening brow with a handkerchief as he said something to make Davy laugh loudly.

When he finally looked up and saw her, his grin deepened, one that loosened her clenched joints. She broke into a run towards him, skidding into a halt far too late. Even at the speed she'd accumulated, her thin frame did nothing to topple the beacon of hope and warmth: instead, she collided into a wall of flesh and nearly bounced off. He steadied her, and she threw her arms around him - to keep her balance at first, but then to hide what might become tears.

"I thought you might be glad to see me," he chuckled as she held on fast.

* * *

 **To be continued! Many thanks for all who read and review. :)**


	13. 1896: March 17 - March 18

March 17, 1896 (cted)

She leaned into the warm embrace, her arms tight around the expanse of the Doug's rotund belly.

"Anne. Come on, this is getting to be indecent."

She said nothing, but burrowed further into his shirt, overcome with gratitude and relief.

"I'm glad to see you too, you know," chuckled Doug, "but you're making a scene."

His pronouncement made her push away at last and quickly glance around. The men went about heaving benches and laughing among themselves, paying absolutely no heed to their private reunion.

"Liar!" she cried, hitting his shoulder with a resounding _smack_.

"Hey now, is that any way to greet a friend?" he laughed.

Anne looked up at him, puzzled. "What are you doing here? I thought you were scheduled for surgery."

"It sounded as though you could use some help, so I came," he said, as though it were really quite simple.

"But...you can't just leave your job!"

"Can't I?" he asked insouciantly. "I've given the hospital enough of my time, that I can take some time off when an emergency arises."

"It's a country wedding," she pointed out, her mind still reeling. "Not a life saving procedure!"

Doug shrugged. "It seemed important." His large brown eyes held such candor that Anne swallowed hard.

"It is," she admitted. "To me, at least, and to Davy and Millie. But it's an awful large sacrifice you've made, coming all the way here."

"I've been told that large sacrifices are an efficient way of getting on your good side."

She huffed, doing her best to repress a smile. "That goes for anyone, I'm sure."

"It worked for Gil, didn't it? Can't see why it wouldn't work for me." His breezy tone unnerved her.

"You've got some nerve, you two have that in common," she rolled her eyes.

"Thank you."

"That wasn't meant as a compliment." A quick look around confirmed that the men were stopping for a break, and enjoying some refreshments brought out by Dora and Mrs. Harrison. "Doug, I wish we could put you up at Green Gables, but I'm afraid that with Mrs Lynde and Dora staying with us, we have quite the full house."

"No worries: Mrs. Blythe'll give me a room," he said with an easy smile.

"My, but you are confident! Does that ridiculous charm of yours always ensure that you get your way?"

He flashed her a toothy grin. "Pretty much."

"You are unbelievable," Anne sighed.

"You're too kind."

"Why, you-"

"You seem flustered - and quite flushed. Anne Shirley, am I making you nervous?"

"Oh, _really_!"

"Admit it: I'm having an effect on you. It's the charm, isn't it?"

His deliberate provocation resulted in her elbow connecting with his gut. As per Anne's habitual luck, ill timing made the blow backfire.

"Doug!" called Mrs. Blythe, having just witnessed the attack from the kitchen window. "Goodness, are you alright?"

"Fine," he choked through a melodramatic bout of coughing, clutching his stomach theatrically. "I'm fine," he wheezed. "Anne's elbow just slipped out, caught me at the wrong time."

"Oh, Anne," sighed the woman with mild reproach. Mrs Lynde's shrill outrage resonated from indoors before Anne could defend herself. "I better go see what's that's about. Doug, dear, do you have a place to stay? I have the spare room made up, you're welcome to it."

"I'd hate to impose-"

"Nonsense, it's no problem at all. I - _yes,_ Rachel, I'm _coming_! - I'll be leaving within the hour, we'll go get you settled then. Excuse me, darlings, I really must go." Sarah Blythe disappeared from the window to go put out whatever the fire was.

"And that's how it's done," Doug crossed his arms with a satisfied smirk.

"Miss Shirley, Mr Sheehan - I'm sorry to interrupt, but do you think you might give us a hand with the ladders?" asked young Henry Bell rather sheepishly.

"Sure thing! Miss Shirley, if you'll excuse us," said Doug with a tip of his hat, and he walked off with Henry, leaving a dumbfounded Anne standing alone.

x-x-x-x-x-x

"Nice of him to come," commented Davy, blowing steam off the top of his mug.

"Who?" Anne's gaze floated off in the distance, her own teacup forgotten in her hands.

He wasn't fooled by her feigned absentmindedness for a second. "Mr Sheehan. I didn't know you'd invited him."

"I didn't. Well, I did, but he'd declined. I had no idea he'd show up." She turned to face Davy, concerned. "It doesn't bother you, does it?"

"Nah, he helped a bunch. The man can lift more 'n me, Ralph and Henry put together."

She scoffed, though her lips twisted into a smile. "Well, that's something, I suppose."

The two remained silent for a while, watching the stars twinkle in the indigo sky.

"You're sure you don't mind?" asked Anne.

"He's the only friend you invited. 'Course I don't mind."

"No, I meant us having the party tomorrow. Maybe we should have canceled..."

Davy shook his head. "People've been looking forward to it. _I_ 've been looking forward to it."

"And Millie doesn't mind leaving early?"

His boyish shrug was contradicted by the wisdom of his words. "She and her mother'll stay until tomorrow evening, and Mr Hodgson'll be there on Saturday. As long as me and Millie are married by the end of the week, the rest doesn't matter."

"I'm so happy for you," whispered Anne through a constricted throat. When had the little boy who loved sweets and pranks grown so mature? When had he learned the life lessons she still failed to understand herself?

"Who invited him?"

She frowned at his question. "Why - I did. I mailed out his invitation with all the rest."

"No, not Millie's old man - Mr Sheehan. Who invited him?"

The corner of her mouth quirked upwards. "I have a fair idea who the culprit might be."

* * *

March 18, 1896

"Anne Shirley!" Mrs Lynde barged into the kitchen with as much ease as when she'd lived at Green Gables. "What in the world are you doing in that apron?"

"Whipping cream" was the obvious answer, but Anne sensed that Rachel wasn't going to let it slide.

"You ought to be hosting, young lady! People are already arriving, and here you are, ruining your sleeves - Dora? Dora! The girl's been ready for hours: why is she out there, receiving guests in your place? I'll tell you why, it's that Charlottetown boy who has her distracted. There you are, girl!" Rachel freed Anne from the apron and transferred it to Dora without a pause in her monologue. "Come on, not a moment to lose - we've pies to top! You: outside!"

Anne was shoved out of the kitchen and onto the porch. Some early comers had already gathered on the property. Davy was escorting Mrs Hodgson over to where the Harrisons were sitting, and Millie was catching up with the Avonlea based friends she seldom got to see. Anne frowned at the woman standing in the shade, talking to Ralph Andrews. What in the world was she doing here?

"Tell your sister to come see us next time she's in town," said Diana as Ralph took his leave. "Anne, there you are!"

"Di, what are you doing here?" She peered at the bundle in her arms. "It's way to early for him to be out!"

"Oh, we only stopped by to say hello, wish Davy and Millie our best. He's fine, he's enjoying the fresh air."

"Give him here." Jack didn't protest the switch - he barely registered the transition through his half-open eyes. "My, but he's already changed so much. Hello, handsome boy! Fancy seeing you here!"

"Fancy seeing _him_ here," muttered Diana. "Why didn't you tell me that _he_ was coming?"

Anne followed her line of sight to Doug was chatting amicably with the reverend and his wife. "Funny, I was going to ask you the same question."

"What do you mean?"

Anne scrutinized Diana from the corner of her eye whilst rocking the sweet lad in her arms. "You didn't tell him to come?"

"Anne, I haven't been allowed to sit up in weeks, let alone hold a pen! Imagine my surprise, when Fred told me _he_ was here, moving furniture and hanging garlands!"

"Well, _someone_ got him here. If it wasn't you, then who?"

Diana shrugged. Her figure still seemed a bit broader, and it would likely stay that way, but the twinkle in her eyes was back, and she positively radiated with joy of motherhood. "Whoever it was... I'm glad," she pronounced, as though trying to convince herself.

"You are?" asked Anne tentatively.

"Of course I am. Give him here." She took her youngest son back into the crook of her arm and deposited a kiss on Anne's cheek. "We've got to get going - he's had enough of being outdoors for now. Stop by on Sunday after service?"

Anne acquiesced, troubled by the fact that Diana's last statement was the only one of which she did not doubt the authenticity.

x-x-x-x-x-x

The celebration was in full swing. Supper had gone very well: food ran in abundance, and no one at the table was left feeling less bit stuffed to the gills. Merry chatter filled the air like an uncoordinated chorus, occasionally punctuated with speeches courtesy of Ralph Andrews, Fred Wright and even the good Rev. Allan. Anne hadn't been able to dodge the request for an address of her own, and had eventually consented to raising her glass of cordial in a toast. _"To my Davy and his Millie: may your lives not be merged, but entwined till eternity._ _May your children raise their children with the same love that you bear for each other._ _M_ _ay you fill Green Gables with the happiness it was meant to know: for tomorrow, it will truly be your home._ _"_

It was the best that she could do on the spot - not her finest, but apparently enough to move both Millie and her mother to tears. Davy had turned to embrace her in a rare voluntary display of affection, and Rachel Lynde's reluctant approval drifted from wherever she was sitting - _"even though in my day, it was not a lady's place to deliver speeches at the table."_

After tea and dessert, the women in attendance all pitched in to clear the dishes, making quick work of it while the men pulled the tables to the side and dug a pit for the fire. The older guests wished the young couple well, and paid their respects to their hosts before driving off into the cool early spring evening, leaving the younger folk to extend the celebrations. The parting kiss Davy bestowed upon Millie had his friends cheering, whistling and calling out encouragements that were as close to obscenity as Avonlea had ever heard. Rachel Lynde had mercifully retired earlier, with a strict warning to tomorrow's groom not to go to bed too late.

Thus, the remaining guests gathered around the tall flames, the talk turning unsurprisingly to farming (seeing as the vast majority of the guests were male and either owned plots, or worked their fathers'). Anne watched from the porch, sitting back in the wicker chair and drinking in the sight of an excited Davy being thumped on the back by one of his peers.

She heard the door swing open, and a teacup was presented to her. Even as she opened her mouth to thank the young lady, her eyes registered that the fingers carrying the saucer were two times too big. "You're not Dora."

"Not since I last checked," confirmed Doug, holding out his offering to her.

"What are you doing here?"

"Most people just go with 'thank you'."

"I'm sorry - thank you," she accepted the tea with belated grace and gestured to the seat beside her. The straw creaked audibly under his weight.

"To answer your question, I was fetching you this." He handed over her shawl, seemingly summoned from nowhere. "It's a bit cold this far from the fire. Don't you want to join them?"

She shook her head with a wistful smile and slipped the shawl around herself. "They make me feel old. I've known them all since they were born."

"They seem like a nice bunch," noted Doug. "Salt of the Earth, country courtesy and all that."

"Most of those boys have had me as their school teacher," she replied dryly. "Just wait until I turn in for the night, and then their language will digress."

"Oh, I don't know," said Doug with a knowing smile. "There's a few fair ladies left to impress in the mix."

"You'd be surprised," Anne grinned knowingly. "Some of those girls are worse than the boys. Well, except for Dora. Speaking of which - where is she? She hasn't turned in yet, but I don't see her around the fire."

"I believe she is in the barn, having a rather heated discussion with Mr. Andrews."

"Ralph?" Anne bolted from her seat. "I have got to see this!"

"Ooh, are we spying now?" Doug followed her in the dark.

"Hush! It's reconnaissance."

"Feels like eavesdropping to me: but hey, whatever helps you sleep at night."

"Shh!" She held up her hand, and they both leaned towards the barn's entrance.

"...could've asked. You know what this is? This is you being jealous."

"Jealous?! I rather think not!"

Anne's eyes widened. Never had she ever heard Dora tell a falsehood before - the girl was far too proper and obedient. A good thing, too, because she was so transparent, she might as well have been a windowpane.

"Oh, yes, you are!" Ralph's laugh was brittle and humorless. "Anyway, you're hardly in a position to complain. You know how I had to find out you were bringing someone? Through my _mother_ , who promised Davy he could put _your_ guest at our place!"

"I didn't know he was going to ask your mother! Anyway, Mr Wallace didn't come with me: Mr Kelly is spending the night in White Sands, at the hotel. And why would you care whether I should invite someone, anyway?"

"I don't." As it turned out, Ralph was just as bad a fibber. "I just find it hypocritical of someone who wouldn't be seen holding hands with the boy walking her home from school, to be chauffeured from Charlottetown to Avonlea by an unattached man without a chaperone, is all."

"A chaperone was hardly necessary: he was driving the whole time, and I sat in the back. Not that I have to justify my actions towards you!"

"Me? I'm not the one who's worried about what people'll say about me!"

"Oh, that's rich! You were so worried about what your mother thought, so thirsty to earn her approval, you'd blinded yourself to how unreasonable her requests were! Anyway, you've said it yourself: you were a boy; Liam is a man."

Anne and Doug quickly ducked in the shadows as Dora's form stomped out of the barn and towards the house.

"Ouch," whispered Doug. Anne, at a loss for words, simply nodded.

"I better go after her."

"You do that - I'll ask Ralph to give me a ride to Mrs Blythe's, maybe try to convince him not to jump off a cliff while I'm at it."

"That's very sweet of you," acknowledged Anne, moved by his willingness to help.

"I always am," Doug smirked, shattering his do-gooder image with his cockiness. "See you tomorrow?"

Anne nodded. "Dress sharp, and don't be late."

x-x-x-x-x-x

"Dora? May I come in?"

The door opened an inch. "Are you alone?"

"Yes. Please, let me in."

Once admitted into the small office, Anne sat down on the bed and motioned for a tearful Dora to sit down next to her. Anne stroked the girl's golden hair, and waited for her to make the first move: she would speak when she was ready.

Predictably, Dora sat back and blew out a watery sigh. "Why do men have to be so dense?"

Anne had to choke back a bark of laughter. "It's the age-long question, darling."

"Well, I hate them." Dora crossed her arms in a show of defiance which did not match her personality.

"Now, that's a bit harsh," came Anne's gentle reprimand.

"I know!" the girl cried. "I do, I hate them - but I can't help wanting a man for myself, Anne! I wish I could be brave and stay independent, like you, but I can't. I want a husband, I want a family... I want what Davy has with Millie."

"There's time yet. If it's truly what you want, I'm confident it will happen for you." She braced herself and continued. "Just be sure that you don't let the right one get away."

"I'm so confused. Liam - Mr Kelly - is looking forward to escort me tomorrow. He's really very nice, and he says all the right things. He's a gentleman, and compliments me all the time.

 _Sounds boring._

Anne ignored the comment. "What do _you_ think of him?"

Dora frowned in concentration. "He's handsome. Kind, intelligent... ideal."

"But?" prompted Anne.

"Oh... I just don't know. There's something off about him - he's too... too perfect. Oh, it doesn't make any sense! I ought to want things to go further, but something keeps holding me back!"

"Something or someone?" asked Anne with a knowing smile.

Dora flushed. "There is nothing between Mr Andrews and myself."

"I never said anything about Ralph."

"Well, good, because it's not happening. It just can't work between us - it never work."

 _She can keep telling herself that: you know where that will get her._

"No one knows what you feel better than yourself, dear. But ask yourself this: which boy makes you the happiest? Which one would stay by your side through thick and thin? Who could you give up, if you had to? Who could you not live without?"


	14. 1896: March 19

**A wink to MrsVonTrapp: this one's for you, lady! If anyone else catches the (19)80s references in this chapter, good for you! ;)**

* * *

March 19, 1896

The White Sands Hotel ballroom was fit for royalty: from the floor-length red velvet curtains, drawn back with ropes of gold to show off the starry evening, to the sparkling crystal chandelier casting its effervescent shimmer over the lavish room. The floor had been polished so that it gleamed like a mirror, and the windows were so clean, the glass was nearly invisible.

"A shameless display," sniffed Rachel as her daughter removed her coat. "Most immodest."

"Now, Mother, there's nothing wrong with a nice reception," chided Hannah Lynde.

"It's vulgar, is what it is! As if having the ceremony in a hotel foyer wasn't bad enough. Come, Anne, let us find our seats. We might as well take our places in this ridiculousness."

As beautiful as their surroundings were, Anne had to agree with Rachel - it was a bit over the top for such a modest young couple: the extravagance could therefore be read as a blatant flaunting of the Hodgson family's wealth. But unlike Rachel, Anne wasn't offended - she chose instead to be glad that the union of Davy and Millie had been deemed worthy of such opulence. Tomorrow, they would begin their real farmers' life - let them have tonight.

"There you two are! Oh, wasn't that a lovely ceremony?" beamed Mrs Hodgson, her face split into a toothy smile. Heavily decked out in furs and jewellery, she was impossible to reconcile with the woman in simple dress who'd sat unassumingly beside Millie the day before.

So dazzled by the large rubies adorning her ears had Anne been, that she had missed out on the exchange that left both women staring at her expectantly. "You don't mind, Anne dear, do you?" nudged Mrs Hodgson, still baring her teeth in her horselike smile.

Anne turned to Rachel, searching for a hint on her face, but the flash of danger in her flinty eyes wouldn't clue her on the issue at hand.

"I...er, excuse me?" stammered Anne in a rare moment of inarticulateness.

"She most certainly does mind!" snapped Rachel, banging her walking cane on the floor, rather like a troll guarding a bridge. "She and I have raised Davy since he was a little boy! We are his closest living relatives, after Dora!"

"And today, he's gained new family." Mr Hodgson inserted himself smoothly into their circle, twirling the waxed tip of his moustache with a debonair smirk. "Isn't this what today is about, ladies? Leaving behind the _old_ life, to embrace the _new_?"

"Of course!" said Anne quickly, trying to diffuse the situation. The last thing Davy needed on their special day was a scene.

"We wanted you at the table with us, we really did," apologized Mrs Hodgson in a way that seemed sincere enough. "But seeing as Horace's grandparents paid for the hall, they would be simply mortified if they weren't sitting with the bride and groom."

"It's all down to blood relations, you see," Mr Hodgson's voice boomed from his inflated chest. "That's why we've seated Dora next to Davy. Everyone at the table is a blood relation. Well, and our son Clarence's wife, of course. We couldn't very well have them separated."

"But your table isn't all that far. I'm sure you'll find it most charming! I'll see you there myself," announced his wife, as grandly as if she'd offered to carry them across the country.

Sensing that Rachel was about one barb away from exploding, Anne took the delicate arm in her own. "That would be lovely, thank you," she consented as gracefully as she could, as eager to avoid confrontation as she was to escape Mr Hodgson's oily presence.

"See now, isn't it lovely?" boasted the mother of the bride once they'd crossed the hall. "Mrs Lynde, your seat is here, so you'll have a wonderful view of the bride and groom! Anne, you'll be right over there. Oh dear, please excuse me - the Jensens have just arrived. Do make yourselves comfortable!"

Anne watched the woman wander off, fighting the desire to hurry after her. Rachel was already complaining of being susceptible to drafts, being seated so close to the doors. Anne was starting to feel the negativity rubbing off on her - being relegated to the far corner was hardly a place of honor, after all. But when Davy turned his head, scanning the room and finally spotting them across the room, Anne merely smiled and waved. This was his day, and she wouldn't let a bit of insignificant pettiness spoil it.

As the remaining guests started to take their seats, though, Anne found her resolve melting. She stood stiffly behind the place labeled _Miss Anne Shirley_ in overly ornate penmanship, looking over the sea of shiny suits and dresses, feeling inadequately robed. Her favorite lilac gown had seemed lovely in the looking glass at home - in this well-dressed crowd, however, she felt quaint and astonishingly out of fashion. She should have consulted Millie before choosing her outfit - not that Rachel would have let her leave the house with a neckline as low as most ladies present wore.

"You look like you're having a good time," spoke a voice from behind her. On any other day, his tone would have irked her, but at the moment, she couldn't have been more grateful to see a familiar face.

"Doug!" she exclaimed, surprised at how relieved she felt. "Oh, thank goodness you're here."

"Took me a while to find you: my table's over there."

Anne frowned in the direction he pointed. "They sat _you_ closer than us?"

"What can I say, they adore me." He grinned at her incredulous look. "Actually, my name wasn't on the guest list, so they offered me a seat with Millie's cousins."

"Figures," she muttered, swallowing hard to repress the hurt. The watery sheen in her eyes didn't go unnoticed by Doug.

"Hey, what's the matter? I was just teasing. Do you want to move up to my table?"

She shook her head. "My seat is here. Mrs Hodgson insisted."

"Then I'll move back here," he shrugged easily.

"But Doug, you can't! The seats are labeled."

"Who cares? Let me take care of it."

Anne watched in amazement as he bent over to address the gentleman occupying the seat next to Rachel. The man's brow furrowed as he eyed the vacant seat to which Doug was pointing, and Anne held her breath in anticipation of Doug being told off. She was duly shocked when the man stood instead, and relinquished his seat with a polite nod and a handshake.

"See? Easy." Doug sat in the newly vacated chair triumphantly.

Anne hated to admit that his arrogant ways had paid off, but Doug had in fact partially redeemed the evening. His easy banter had put her and everyone else at their table at ease - he'd even endured Rachel's picking and prying to the point where her scorn had entirely disappeared in favor of unadulterated curiosity.

There was much chatter around the fancy dinner being served, and Anne found herself relaxing into easy conversation with Barbara Shaw, her former student and a friend of Millie's, currently sitting at her left. Also at the table was Ralph Andrews, openly scowling over his chilled soup to where the infamous Liam Kelly sat next to Hannah Lynde, listening to Henry Bell's nervous chatter with cool detachment.

After dessert, most of the ladies sought refuge in the powder room, while an elite circle of men were being handpicked to adjourn to the smoking room. Doug himself received an invitation, but declined it.

"I'm sorry to pass on the opportunity, Mr Hodgson, but I'm afraid I promised Miss Shirley some fresh air," he prevaricated, offering Anne his arm. "Shall we?"

They made their way outside, bypassing the guests lingering on the marbled terrace in favor of the darkened gardens.

"How in the world did you weasel your way into the their good graces?" demanded Anne once they were safely out of earshot from the others. "I've been trying for months, to no avail!"

"It's the ol' charm: never fails."

Oh, how she wanted to wipe the smug grin from his face. "I suppose being a doctor has its advantages," she remarked bitterly.

"That never even came into play," laughed Doug. "All I had to do was say I live in Prince Albert, the rest took care of itself."

"No wonder I never stood a chance," she replied wryly.

His amusement dwindled when her sour mood refused to lift. "Alright. You want to know the key to being accepted by these people?"

"If you say 'confidence', I will slug you," she warned.

He shook his head. "It's contempt."

She let go and stopped in her tracks, gaping at him.

Doug crossed his arms. "Surprised? Well, that's the big secret. Don't be impressed by anything they say: just look down on them, from a slightly higher angle. A little disdain goes a long way."

His revelation had her thrown for a loop - for two seconds.

"You're wrong," she shook her head. "How can you like someone who has disdain for you?"

"It's not about liking," he explained. "It's about admiring."

"But it's so _negative._ I can't do it - I won't. And for your information..." she paused, unsure of whether or not she could say it. "...for your information, Gilbert didn't have contempt for anyone, and the higher ups at Redmond adored him."

Doug heaved out a resigned sigh. "Yes, well. There's a different set of rules for the handsome and beautiful."

An odd mix of emotions whirled around in her chest. Bringing up Gilbert had been hard enough - hearing anything resembling disappointment in relation to his name made it slightly worse. Yet, in the same breath, Doug had paid him a compliment.

Having reached the edge of the gardens, they made to turn back - and slowed their steps as voices drifted from the hedges bordering the stone path.

"...don't think that's a good idea," spoke a young lad whose voice groaned and squeaked under the strains of adolescence.

"Come on, don't be a coward," said another: this one older, and far more authoritative.

"My ma'll be able to tell, she'll be awful cross."

"Do you want to be a man, or don't you? We allowed you to tag along: now, drink, or be gone!"

"Go on, have a swig!" intoned a third male voice, nasal and derisive. "It'll put some hair on your chest. Give us the flask, Kelly: I'll show him how it's done."

By this time, Doug and Anne had come to a full stop. She turned to face him, mouthing _Liam?_ in silent disbelief. His somber nod confirmed the identity of the more confident speaker as Dora's escort for the night.

"See? It's all good. Your turn, and don't you dare spit it out - this stuff's expensive."

Sounds of choking and coughing indicated that the boy had caved in to peer pressure. "What _is_ that?" the poor child sputtered.

"Don't be a ninny! Never show surprise, never lose your cool: swallow like a man. Here, try it again."

The pitiful gagging and sputtering that ensued made Anne want to intervene, but Doug shook his head: the fat finger held in front of his lips made her stay quiet.

"Pathetic! Here, gimme," instructed the nasally weasel. "Say, Kelly, that's a fine broad you got in there."

"Eh, she's alright, I guess, in a bland sort of way."

"Come on, you can't possibly be bored already! She's the sister of the groom, you can't possibly see something better in there."

"Anything else is always something better. Anyway, haven't you heard? The groom is a penniless farmer: his sister inherited something from an old aunt, or grandmother or whatever, but it's nothing compared to what's running around in that hall. The Hodgsons are from serious money - it's why I insisted Dora score me an invitation."

By then, Doug was restraining Anne, his beefy arms preventing her from barging around the bush.

"Of course, she has no idea - she honestly believes I'm besotted with her."

"Yeah? You wouldn't have said or _done_ anything to perpetuate that notion?"

"You know better than to ask, Monty! Never tell tales about a woman: no matter how far she is, she'll hear you. But... " the dramatic pause made Anne sick to her stomach. "...well, let's just say there's a lot more to her than meets the eye."

Doug slapped his large hand over Anne's mouth just in time to muffle a warrior's cry: had he not outweighed her by eighty or so pounds, she would have charged ahead with the intent to kill. Instead, he dragged her down the path and stopped short of the terrace, where he allowed her to shrug out of his grasp.

"That slimy piece of-"

"Don't even go there," Doug held his hands up. "Don't give him a second thought. Kids like that are all talk: I'd bet my right hand he's never even gone beyond holding hands."

"But - what he said! Dora..."

"You know her, Anne. Would she fall for empty promises so easily? Would she compromise herself in that way?"

"She's not experienced," moaned Anne. "We've sheltered her... she's so innocent!"

Doug smiled gently. "I'd give her a little more credit than that. Anyway, by the lingering stares she's been sending our friend Mr. Andrews, I'd say we have little to worry about regarding her heart."

Anne blew out a breath. "You're probably right."

"I usually am," he answered, his cocky grin back in place. "Don't waste another thought on him. Just - don't let him drive Dora anywhere tonight."

"He most certainly won't! Dora is coming back to Green Gables."

"Alright, mother bear. Are you ready to return to the high society in there?"

Anne exhaled heavily through flared nostrils. "I am," she grit out. "But I'm keeping an eye on that scoundrel. If he so much as touches a hair on her head-"

"I'll help you bury the body. Come, now, the orchestra's already started."

They made it back just in time to see Millie float by in a cloud of white, Davy spinning her around with a radiant smile. Never had he looked so tall, so handsome, so happy, reflected Anne as she grinned through her tears. Little Davy was a grown man now: the boy who used to come home covered in mud up to his ears and sneak biscuits from the cupboard was now a husband. Soon, he would be the one kissing scraped knees and soothing frightened wails.

" _Psst!_ Which planet are you on?" Doug's unwelcome pinch jolted Anne from her cloud of nostalgia. "I'm pretty sure this is your cue."

She blinked and shifted her attention to the floor, where Millie was now partnered with her father. Davy stood at the edge of the circle cleared by the guests, in a discussion with Mrs Hodgson which appeared mostly one-sided.

"...would be delighted to do the honors, Davy, I truly don't mind stepping in..."

She heard as Doug pulled her through the crowd.

"But-"

Poor Davy was too polite to continue as she rattled on: "Or if you'd prefer someone who's lighter on their toes, I completely understand. Pauline wouldn't mind, she and Millie had the same dance instructor last year, I insisted, of course..."

"-I don't-"

"You don't mind, do you Pauline? Or Grandma Henley! Don't let her age fool you, she _loves_ to dance!"

"Doug!" he exclaimed, a tad relieved. "Have you seen Anne anywhere?"

"She's right here." Doug stepped aside, his big frame having concealed the very person Davy was looking for.

"There you are!" he beamed down at her. "Let's have a dance, shall we? Excuse us," he nodded to his mother-in-law and whisked Anne into the slow waltz. Too moved for words, Anne gripped his shoulder a mite too tightly: she understood that this was a statement on his part. This dance was for family, for parents. Millie dancing with her father symbolized her being his little girl, despite of marriage and starting a family of her own. This was Marilla's rightful place: knowing Davy, he'd probably asked Rachel if she didn't mind that Anne would fill in.

"I'm sorry about the seating arrangements," said Davy earnestly. "It was sprung on us at the last minute - you know Millie never would've agreed to it."

"We're fine," smiled Anne. "All we care about is your happiness. Are you happy, Davy-boy?"

"You better stop calling me that. I'm a married man, now. And, yeah." A goofy grin took over his face. "I'm real happy."

She gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Then I'm happy, too."

"May I cut in?"

Anne grit her teeth. The man appeared with the magical sneakiness of a jinn.

"Sure." Davy handed her over, and was immediately accosted by Millie's sister.

"You know, your lack of enthusiasm is liable to hurt my feelings," declared Doug with his usual humorous demeanor.

"I very much doubt so."

"Don't be a poor sport, Shirley! You ought to be thanking me: I just saved you from total humiliation."

Anne tilted her chin up defiantly. "Is that so?"

"About three different vultures were circling the groom as you danced. One of them would have cut in sooner or later, and you would have been left all on your own. This way, at least you come out of it appearing more desirable."

"It is nice of you, I suppose," she grumbled reluctantly. "I'm sorry to seem ungrateful, I'm just not sure I'm up to it. I'll never fit in with this crowd, and they all already know...what's the use in pretending?"

"For starters, it's fun. Also, it's bad form to run off after one dance. Furthermore, it'll keep Davy from worrying about you."

His winning smile showed that he knew he'd won the argument. "Come on, Shirley, let's have some fun. What do you say?"

Anne rolled her eyes. "Oh, alright."

He leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially: "Don't worry, I'll make you look good." Taking advantage of her discomfiture, Doug pulled her into form. The fact that she couldn't reach his shoulder without her body brushing up against his stomach made it slightly awkward.

"It's alright," he said as Anne tried to maintain some distance between them. "You'll find that fat people make excellent dance partners. It's just a bit of padding, for when you trip."

Before she could repost, he'd launched her forward, and Anne had no choice but to follow his lead. The band had switched to a polka, and a lively one at that. She closed her eyes and prayed that he wouldn't drag her down as he tumbled.

Her concerns soon proved to be unfounded: the man might have been twice her size and weight, but he was lighter on his feet than Anne was herself. He moved with calm assurance, his steps precise, leading with the perfect balance between firm and supple. Worse yet, he didn't even appear out of breath - though she did spy beads of perspiration glistening below his orange hairline.

He glanced down at her for a second, then quickly turned his attention back to navigating the sea of couples. "Surprised that a fat man can dance this well?"

Her glare could have melted glaciers. "Not in the slightest," she lifted her nose up in the air, though she'd been thinking exactly that.

The only other person of notable size she'd ever had the pleasure of knowing as a dance partner was Joe Courvette. She'd felt so sorry for the underclassman from her french literature class, standing all alone by the punchbowl at Redmond's annual winter formal. His utter disbelief at her invitation should have clued her in: but there was no polite way to retract it, and he did smile so enthusiastically... Somehow, he managed to trod - _heavily_ \- on her foot on the very first step, and was panting and sweating profusely ten steps into the dance. Anne found herself apologizing for him quite a bit, her mouth fixed in a forced smile as she attempted to drag his bulk this way and that. Lavinia would have made a better lead than poor Mr Courvette, who'd left Anne feeling quite averse to ample-stomached dance partners.

Yet, here she was spinning and kicking about with Doug - the humble reminder that the judgement of character and abilities by one's weight was just as undeserved as prejudice against one's color of hair.

Anne shared two more numbers with Doug before Henry Bell shyly asked his favorite schoolmarm if she'd spare him a dance. She granted him two, and even agreed to take a spin around the hall with a distracted Ralph, whom she had to lead (as the boy was too busy shooting daggers through his eyes towards Dora's current partner to take notice of anyone else).

After thanking Ralph for the dance, Anne spied Rachel and Hannah Lynde by the entrance, and quickly hurried to their side.

"We're leaving," explained Hannah with a smile. "Mother's feeling a bit tired - I'm a bit knackered myself, if I'm to be honest."

"I want to leave before the guests start swarming out. All the traffic at night time..." Rachel shuddered.

"Would you like me to drive you home?" offered Anne.

"Thank you, dear, but it's not far. We'll be fine."

"Mind you, don't stay up too late," warned Rachel. "And don't forget to wrap your shawl over twice before heading out: the night's still chilly. The way you girls dress these days..."

Anne smiled, her throat oddly tight. "I'm so glad you came to visit."

"Well, so am I - at least Davy got one decent wedding out of it. Why we couldn't have simply had the ceremony at Green Gables-"

The older woman suddenly found herself engulfed in the slender redhead's arms. Recovering from her surprise quickly, she returned the embrace. "There, now, child. There, now," she said comfortingly, soothing her back.

Anne squeezed as tightly as she dared, minding the frail bones. An ache was building inside of her, as if she was already missing the woman holding her.

"Let us not make a scene," said Rachel, stepping away from the hug. "I'll expect you to come visit soon. Bring that doctor along," she ordered, and turned briskly, leaving Hannah to say a rushed goodbye and follow.

Anne sniffed back her tears and wiped at her cheek with her fingers, when a handkerchief materialized over her shoulder. She muttered a watery 'thanks' and accepted it without turning to face her benefactor. "Must you follow me everywhere?"

"Sorry. I'll leave you be."

"Wait!" she hastily dried her eyes and turned around. "I'm sorry, Doug. I've been rude to you all evening - I don't know why, I really don't mean to."

"Are you alright?" he asked, gallantly accepting her apology without a fuss.

She nodded. "I will be."

"Is there anything I can do? Perhaps you'd like to freshen up in the powder room?"

"Actually - would you mind asking Dora whether she's ready to go home?"

"Sure. Would you like me to convey your congratulations to the happy couple while you fetch your coat?"

Anne looked at the crowd formed around the young groom and bride: their party had just started. "Please." She would see them soon enough.

In the time it had taken to locate her belongings, Doug had returned without Dora, but with his own coat and hat. "She's accepted a ride from Mr Andrews," he explained.

She blinked in astonishment. "As easily as that?"

"Let me rephrase that," Doug grinned, slipping his arm through the gargantuan sleeves. "Mr Andrews agreed to drive her home."

"I see." Anne was surprised to be smirking so soon. "And is she aware of said arrangement?"

"She's bound to find out soon enough."

"Doug..." she paused as he opened the door for her. "As much as it kills me to admit it, your being here was extremely helpful. I don't think I could have gotten through tonight on my own."

"Don't thank me," he smiled. "You're driving: I'm sleeping the whole ride back."


	15. 1896: March 20

**Another wink at MrsVonTrapp - and to anyone out there who's playing our favorite game with us: spot the 80s reference! I've made this round much easier than the previous one ;) Happy hunting, and thanks for reading!**

* * *

March 20, 1896

By Sunday morning, it seemed the whole town had heard of the stranger on the Island. Those who hadn't met Doug Sheehan at the pre-wedding party flocked around him in the churchyard the second the service was over: women dragging along their husbands to be introduced to the doctor, children peeping through their parents' legs to catch a glimpse of the man said to be the size of a bear and the color of a tiger cat.

Anne watched from a safe distance as Avonlea's keenest gossipers eyed the visitor with particular interest. She'd warned him that going to church might throw him in the way of nosy prodding and comments that were intended to be overheard, but even she hadn't anticipated such a high level of rudeness.

In retrospect, Anne figured she should have expected it. These were the very same people who'd treated the scrawny redheaded orphan as one would a stray dog, at first. Even now, as Enid Sloane's eyebrows furrowed in undisguised disapproval, Anne could hear the words from her first day at this church. _'Of all the reckless things to do, Marilla! We know nothing of this child. She could be bringing all kinds of disease with her! Have you checked her for fleas? What about mites?'_

To her left, Leonore Pye's thin lips were twisted in their default sour expression. A woman as generous with her words as with anything else, she had been subtler in her disdain, but twice as sharp. ' _My, but she_ is _a scrawny thing!_ _If she speaks as mildly as she looks, we'll be in for quite an interesting time.'_

Oh, and Mrs. Harmon Andrews. She didn't know it for a fact, but Anne strongly suspected her of igniting the worst of the fears in the community. She could just picture those unforgiving, beady little eyes as the woman planted her seeds of hysteria: _'Marilla Cuthbert, you would put the whole town at risk by bringing in a homeless degenerate? You do know what orphans are like, don't you? Liars, thieves... they'd rob you blind, if they don't kill you in your sleep first!_

Naively, Anne had hoped that Doug would be shown more courtesy. Surely he'd earned it, as a well-dressed adult, a gentle person, an educated man - a doctor, for crying out loud! But in Avonlea, there was such a thing as being too polished. Prince or pauper, young or old, it didn't matter in the eyes of the community: you were either from the Island, or you were not.

Fred interrupted her thoughts by stepping up beside her. "The man knows how to work a crowd."

It was true, she had to agree: Doug didn't appear to be struggling at all, answering the barrage of questions with a polite smile. His posture was neither arrogant nor embarrassed: he stood straight and kept his head humbly inclined, owning every inch of his body with a confidence that she envied.

"He certainly knows how to draw one," Anne rolled her eyes.

"I'll say. Haven't seen such a gathering since my parents rented those ponies for the Harvest Fest."

"I think they were kinder towards the ponies," she grumbled.

"Can't blame them for being curious. We don't get a lot of fresh blood 'round these parts."

He had a point, of course. Anne knew she was overreacting: these people were her neighbors and friends, and there was nothing unusual about their curiosity. It was a bit rude, the way they ogled him like a circus animal, but he wasn't bothered by it, so why should she take offense?

"Where's Di?" she changed the subject, looking around.

"Home with the baby. He was up all night, crying."

Anne turned to face her friend. The dark bags under his eyes indicated that he hadn't had much rest either. "Poor thing. Is he sick?"

"I don't know. Couldn't tell."

"Fred!" she scolded. "You left her alone with the sick baby?"

"We don't know that he's sick, Dr. Porter isn't sure there's much to worry about. All he ever does is cry - the baby, that is. It's his favorite pastime, apparently." The end of his sentence was distorted by a tearing yawn, which he muffled behind his sleeve. "Freddie stayed behind too, he knows to call the doctor from the Bells' telephone if there's need."

Conditioned by habit, Anne pushed down her panic in favor of practicality. "There's not a moment to lose. Let's go! I'll fetch Doug."

While Fred gathered his daughter, Anne made sure Dora had a way of getting home (she and Minnie May would walk together). Doug extricated himself from the crowd and informed Mrs Blythe of the change in plans. By then, Fred and his daughter had already hit the road: Anne readied the buggy and waited for Doug to hop in.

"Should we stop by Mrs Blythe's, to fetch your supplies?" she asked as she spurred Orlando to trot a bit faster than was reasonable.

"I didn't bring any with me, but we probably won't need them anyway. If it's a real emergency, we'll call on Dr. Porter."

x-x-x-x-x-x

They quickly caught up with Fred midway, and hurried inside while he tended to the horses.

"Di?" called Anne, taking the steps two by two, following the strains of an infantile wail. "Ah, Freddie, is your mother resting?"

"No," replied the sullen boy at the top of the stairs, peering over her shoulder.

"You remember Dr. Sheehan. He's here to check on the baby."

Freddie eyed the man skeptically. "You're a doctor?"

"I am," answered Doug before Anne could scold her godson for his manners. "I'm here to see if I can't get your little brother to stop crying."

"Good," sighed the boy with the inelegant relief of a sleep-deprived nine-year-old. "They're in the nursery."

Anne knocked and went in first, making sure that Diana was not feeding before inviting Doug in.

"You didn't need to come over," said the harrassed mother over Jack's yelling. "I called Dr. Porter last night, he said not to worry as long as there wasn't any sign of fever."

Doug handed his hat to Anne and stepped forward. "May I?"

Diana hesitated before handing over her youngest child. Anne stood by, ready to assist, but there was no need, as Doug took the baby with ease.

"Hello, there!" he smiled down at the crimson-faced banshee. "Nothing wrong with your lungs, is there? Let's see what's going on here."

Poor, haggard Diana wasn't able to hold back a gasp as he made to unwrap the blanket tightly swaddling the baby. Everyone in the room turned to face the somewhat less than put-together woman: discomfited by their stares, she reddened subtly at the cheekbones.

"How old is this little gentleman?" asked Doug lightly, attempting to put her more at ease while undressing her child. "Not much more than a week, surely?"

"Eight days," confirmed Fred, having just entered the room with Small Anne at his heels.

"Ah! You're still very new to this world, then," Doug addressed the unclothed creature, checking his skin for blemishes or irregularities. "No rash. When did he last eat?

"I tried nursing just now - he hasn't taken much in since last night," admitted Diana with deepening embarrassment as the doctor felt the diaper for dryness. "He'll start suckling, only to stop."

"I see," said Doug contemplatively, cradling the minuscule being in one arm. "I wonder..."

His massive hand descended delicately on the baby's chest. He felt around, prodding with the utmost care, coming to a stop on his tiny stomach. Doug placed two fat fingers just below the stump at his navel, and pressed sharply.

As the three other adults in the room lurched forward - Diana, to wrench her son from harm's way; Anne, to restrain Diana; Fred, to punch Dr. Sheehan in the face - the baby emitted a loud squawk, followed by a deafening noise that exploded in the small, cramped nursery. The crying immediately ceased, and all stood still as a stunned hush settled over the room.

Anne Cordelia was the first to recover.

"How rude!" she exclaimed with vehement disgust. The adults around her burst out laughing, and the tension in the crowded room dissolved. The Wrights' giggles verged on hysterical, the aftermath of a worrisome and sleepless night.

"Figures," Fred wiped tears of hilarity from his eyes, his face redder than ever.

"But- but _how_?" stammered a bewildered Diana, unburdened of the symbiotic pain. "I've tried burping him, several times!"

"I'm afraid the air was trapped too low for burping," grinned the doctor, wrapping the blanket back around a much happier little Jack. "I'll show you how to feel for the spot, should it happen again."

"Dr. Sheehan - we can't thank you enough," said Diana sincerely as she was handed back her son.

"No problem at all," replied Doug graciously, stepping out of the way to let Fred through. The relieved father leaned over his youngest boy, and rested his hand carefully on the downy soft head.

"All that fuss just to let one rip," he muttered, his unimpressed comment betrayed by the affection shining through his eyes.

x-x-x-x-x-x

"You've barely said a word about White Sands," commented Diana, levelling spoonfuls of flour and dumping them in the tureen.

"Oh - it was as could be expected," replied Anne evasively, putting a cleaned platter in its place.

"Did Uncle Davy dance with Miss Hodgson? Did he look like a prince?" asked Small Anne eagerly as she dried a tumbler with a cloth.

"He most certainly did," Anne smiled, happy to answer an easy question. "And she's Mrs. Keith, now."

"Did she wear a big white gown?" the girl pressed on without skipping a beat.

"Huge." Anne plucked the tumbler from her hands, deciding to be generous with the dream fodder. "There was so much fabric, she looked like a cloud."

"Did she arrive in a carriage pulled by white stallions?" Small Anne's eyes glazed over dreamily.

"No, but she and Davy will arrive at Green Gables via buggy tonight."

"Did Aunt Dora bring her bozos?"*

Anne nearly dropped the tumbler, and Diana's head whipped in the direction of her daughter.

"Anne Cordelia Wright, who taught you that word?" she demanded, setting down the measuring spoon with an authoritative _clank._

"You did, Mama! You told Papa that if Aunt Dora couldn't choose which of her bozos to bring from Charlottetown, she might as well do without for now. What is a bozo, Mama? May I have one?"

"You mean _beaux_ ," corrected Diana. "And you may have as many as you please - when you're older."

Anne bit her cheeks to stifle a chortle as Small Anne dashed to the porch, announcing to the men who were having coffee on the porch: "Papa, I'm getting twenty boze when I'm older!"

"Over my dead body," Fred's reply floated back through the kitchen. Diana shut the door on Doug's chuckles and rolled her eyes at Anne.

"Alright, now that she's occupied, let's hear the details," she declared with a smirk. "Did you dance with him?"

"With Davy, you mean? Of course I did, even though Mrs. Hodgson _was_ doing her best to fill in for me. Would you believe she sat us at all the way at the back of the hall, as far away from Davy and Millie as possible? At least Dora had a seat next to Davy at the table of honor, or Rachel would have pitched a real fit."

"That vile woman! Who does she think she- oh, no, you don't!" Diana wagged a floured finger. "You won't distract me so easily, Anne Shirley. You danced with Mr. Sheehan, didn't you?"

"And with Ralph Andrews, and Henry Bell. What's it to you?"

"Ralph and Henry don't count, they're boys. Come on, Anne! He's the first man you haven't turned down since- in a long time," she stumbled and recovered quickly. "I'm just wondering if perhaps, there might be something more..."

Anne crossed her arms and tilted her head proudly. "It's nothing but regular courtesy...and hardly scandalous! We're both adults, who happened to share a dance at a wedding, in a hall crowded with people."

"You can't blame me for hoping. I know you don't appreciate being reminded of it, but it must be said, Anne - you're not in your twenties anymore. No, listen!" she held up a hand when Anne opened her mouth to protest. "I'll admit, it's barely ideal - he's not exactly a knight in shining armour... but darling, those are imaginary! He's a real man, with a solid profession. He seems good enough, and let's face it: he knows his way with babies, which is always a plus. Heaven knows we owe him a great deal of thanks for what he did with Jack."

"So he helped your son break wind: _that_ 's supposed to make me swoon?" Anne arched an eyebrow at her bosom friend.

"Swooning is what characters do in romance novels," Diana rolled her eyes. "In real life, you find someone with practical qualities, and you learn to appreciate them for their good values."

"You'll have to forgive my wife." Fred's voice made the ladies start as he addressed Doug: they hadn't heard the men enter the kitchen. "She's been trying for years to dissuade Anne from pursuing a life of spinsterish celibacy. Who are we pitching this time around, love?"

" _Fred!_ " screeched Diana, her cheeks a mortified shade of scarlet. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"Oh, come now, Di, it's hardly a secret. We're among friends, Doug won't be offended, unless you've made him the- oh!"

Anne briefly wondered whether it was sleep deprivation, or the upcoming full moon which was responsible for their otherwise unexplainable lunacy.

"I'm very flattered, Mrs. Wright," Doug inclined his head politely to his hostess. "But I'm afraid it's quite impossible."

"That's right!" seconded Anne, relieved. "Simply out of the question."

"I could never find a partner in someone with such a violent temper. I would live in constant fear for my life."

Anne gaped at him, then frowned: "And I could never be with someone with such a lack of interest in literature, and no taste for poetry whatsoever!"

"Beside which, there isn't much flesh to her bones..."

"He's incredibly fat-"

"...almost sickly pale-"

"-extremely freckled-"

"And her hair's so _red_!"

The last statement plunged the kitchen into stillness, the alarming quiet that often preceded catastrophe. Anne blinked, staring back at Doug, and the two simultaneously threw their heads back and erupted into peels of laughter, as if they had played out a well-coordinated prank.

"Oh!" Diana stormed off, unsure of whether she felt more embarrassed at being caught matchmaking, or vexed that they weren't taking the matter seriously. Fred looked at the pair, scratching his head with a bemused smile. This _was_ interesting.

x-x-x-x-x-x

"I don't think I've ever known such a tranquil evening." Doug leaned back in his seat on the porch with a contented sigh.

"Don't jinx it, then," warned Anne, just before the kitchen door swung open.

"I thought we could all use a spot of tea," announced Millie cheerfully, balancing a china laden tray in one hand, a teapot in the other, kicking the door shut behind her with her foot. "Except for you, of course, Dr. Sheehan. Davy'll bring out coffee for you in a minute."

"Please don't trouble yourselves-" Doug began apologetically, but Millie wouldn't hear any of it.

"It's no trouble at all, really." She smiled sweetly as she handed out a cup to Anne, and poured one for herself. "We do appreciate all your help with recent events - here, as well as in White Sands," the young woman said. "Anne, I'm truly mortified at how my parents carried on..."

"Think nothing of it," replied Anne. "I was simply glad to be included, in any capacity. It was a joy to share your special day."

"You still should have been with us at our table," Millie plopped a third sugar cube in her own tea and stirred daintily. "The only seating request on my part was to keep you, Dora and Mrs. Lynde closeby. I was furious with Mamma for ignoring it."

"Let it go, Darling," soothed Davy as he joined the crowd to deliver Doug his coffee.

"It was a beautiful reception: that's all that matters," assured Anne with a warm smile. "Everyone had a marvellous time."

"Even Dora," added Davy, leaning against the porch railing. "Doc - whatever it was you said to that weasel Kelly, _thank you._ I can't stand the sight of him."

"It was nothing. Just some light chitchat about the weather," Doug added, seeing Anne's confusion.

"Cloudy with a chance of black eye?" asked Millie, startling everyone else into surprised laughter.

"Well, it worked," chuckled Davy, slinging an arm around his new wife's shoulders affectionately. "He stayed clear for the rest of the night, even after you'd left."

Anne gritted her teeth, her anger at Liam Kelly still boiling her blood.

"I didn't mean to ruin Dora's fun for the night," said Doug contritely.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that," said Millie with a cute smirk. "Ralph Andrews was most generous in his offer to dance with her for the rest of the night."

"He did upset a few gentlemen who'd been waiting their turn," commented Davy with a grin.

"What are you talking about?" demanded Dora, marching up the porch steps.

"Nothing," Anne quickly said.

"The weather," answered Millie at the same time.

"None of your business," added Davy in the sneering tone reserved especially for spats with his sister.

Dora glared at them suspiciously. "You were talking about me and Ralph, weren't you?"

Anne repressed the urge to correct her phrasing, and thus remained silent.

"Not everything is about you, Dora," said Davy in a bored tone.

The honey-haired girl narrowed her hazel eyes at him. "Gossip is such a vulgar trend," she sniffed haughtily.

"Oh ho, I don't think you want to go down _that_ road, Sister," he intoned in a way that made Anne intervene before things got ugly.

"Davy, be nice. We weren't gossiping, Dora, dear - merely talking about yesterday, and how much we enjoyed the party. Did you not have a good time, sweetie?"

"If this is your roundabout way of asking about Ralph, I'll have you know that nothing of interest happened: we shared four dances, stayed for Mr. Hodgson's speech, and left. Short of remarkable - it was adequate."

" _Adequate_?" A new voice spoke, making all five occupants of the porch squint into the darkness.

"Ralph! Good evening," called Anne, second to identify his form, but first to recover her voice. "Would you care to join us for a cup of tea?"

"What are you doing here?" asked Dora bluntly, causing the poor boy to whiten as he approached the candlelit porch.

"No, thank you, Miss Shirley," he tipped his hat politely. "I actually came to speak to you, Dora."

"About time," pronounced Davy, quite audibly. Ralph paused at bottom step and looked up expectantly at his best friend's sister. Dora crossed her arms challengingly, and began to tap her foot, while everyone else watched the scene with great interest.

"I was hoping - we might, perhaps, go for a walk? The night's not so cool - and we wouldn't go far," he directed the last reassurance at Anne, who beamed her approval back at him.

"I'm not sure what you hope to accomplish with a walk at this hour, when we could barely see two steps ahead of ourselves," came Dora's acerbic reply.

Ralph's cheeks turned crimson, and his eyebrows slanted dangerously.

"Fine! You want to do this right here, right now? I love you, Dora Keith - I've loved you ever since we were twelve years old! You might be too scared to admit it, but I'm not: I love you, and I know you love me, too. So, I made a mistake, and I hurt you, and I'm sorry - but Dor', that was _years_ ago! Heck, I wasn't barely a man at the time. I've done some growing up since then, and so've you - except, I've been working at getting better for you, and you've been trying to push the pain away by moving to the city, and making yourself so shallow, you can't feel anything! But I still see you, the 'you' you try to hide - and still I love that 'you'. I'm willing to try again, for real this time. I'm a better man now, I know I'd make a fine husband one day - I just hope that when I do, it's you on my arm, in my house, with my children. 'Cause I'm telling you, Dora: I'll wait some, but I ain't waiting forever."

The end of his tirade echoed in the ensuing second of silence. Ralph fixed the recipient of his declaration with a burning stare, breathing heavily. Dora had gone three shades pinker than usual, but she did not make so much as a squeak. Everyone else jumped to their feet simultaneously.

"I forgot to air out the linen cupboards!" exclaimed Millie.

"I'll help," offered Davy eagerly, rushing in after her.

"Would you mind grabbing the teapot?" asked Anne, quickly piling used teacups on the tray.

"Not at all," Doug complied, following her inside.

"Well!" she said, setting the china on the counter.

"That was quite to the point," grinned Doug.

Anne giggled through her blush. "It certainly was. Honestly, it's time _someone_ shook some sense into that girl. I was about to do so - but somehow, I feel his approach might be more successful." _And t_ _alk about a full moon - it seems all the lunatic couples are having it out tonight!_

"Depends on what you're trying to accomplish," Doug agreed tactfully, filling the wash basin with the water that was left in the large kettle.

"I do hope it works," Anne worried out loud, adding cold water to the basin. "She'll be miserable if Ralph gives up on her."

"I'm sure he won't. The fellow's clearly smitten."

"What's going on?" asked Davy with interest as he came back down the stairs and into the kitchen, with Millie on his heels. "Did she say yes?"

"How should we know?" shrugged Anne. "They're still out there."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" he asked, and hurried to the window that gave on the porch. Anne opened her mouth to scold Davy, and tell him to give them some privacy, but Doug followed suit, as did Millie. Shaking her head, Anne walked up to the window as well.

"What's going on?" she asked, tiptoeing in an effort to see over Doug's immense shoulder, to no avail.

"Let me see!" demanded Millie, shoving Davy to the side, only to sigh disappointedly. "They're just talking."

"Come on!" groaned Davy at the two through the glass. "Do it, already!"

Alerted by the noise, Dora turned toward the window and frowned. She grabbed Ralph's hand and yanked him down the path, as one would an uncooperative goat.

"Aw, now we don't get to see!" whined Davy.

"Oh, let's let them have some privacy," preached Anne belatedly. "They know what they're doing: perhaps Green Gables will know a wedding this year, after all."

* * *

 ***I know that the word "bozo" only appears in print starting around the 1920s. I'm taking a huge liberty here in assuming that just because it wasn't used in print yet, doesn't mean people didn't know the word or use it in speech.**


	16. 1896: March 21

March 21, 1896

Anne stopped the horse just short of the station. It was odd to drive up here without the intent to travel, but rather to see someone off. She hadn't done that since...

She wouldn't dwell on that now. "See, you've got ideal weather for traveling!" she announced with somewhat forced cheeriness.

"Not that it matters," Dora rolled her eyes. "It's not as though I'm taking a ferry, or anything."

"Still, you'll be able to enjoy a nice view from the window," pointed out Anne, unwilling to part with the morose cloud of gloom hovering over them.

"Fields, fields, and more fields," muttered the girl darkly. "Thrilling."

Anne frowned. Hadn't Dora been the slightest bit happy to be back? "I must have underestimated how much of a City girl you've become," she strove for a neutral tone. "Days in Avonlea must feel slow-paced in comparison to the thrum of excitement in Charlottetown."

Dora shook her head: as belatedly adolescent as her behavior might have been, she still didn't like to offend her elders. "I like it here well enough," she conceded. "I just liked it better when Marilla was with us."

As ever, Anne felt a small tug at her heart. "I know." She caressed the girl's rosy cheek affectionately. "She would have understood your need to leave, as do I. Just know that you can return whenever you wish."

After a brief embrace, they straightened up. "We'd better hurry and sort out your ticket situation!" Anne rushed Dora to the booth on the platform, though there was no real urgency: Mr. Hunter greeted them both by name, and was only too happy to issue Dora's fare for the next train, at a reasonably low charge. When they'd thanked him effusively and dropped off her suitcase, there was nothing left to do but wait.

"It's been nice having you around," said Anne wistfully. "Would you consider coming home for Christmas?"

"I'd like to," admitted Dora carefully, "but I don't know if I should..."

"It's been a long time since Green Gables has seen real Christmas feast. Mrs. Blythe and the Harrisons will attend - we'd love it if you could join us." Anne lowered her voice then: "Ralph will likely be busy with his own family: you won't have to worry about him."

"Oh, it's not him," Dora dismissed without a fuss. "It's Aunt Josephine - she's usually alone during the holidays. I'd hate to leave her."

There it was: the core of compassion and thoughtfulness she always hoped had remained intact under the young woman's frivolous and snobbish airs. Anne's chest swelled with pride.

"I'm sure the two of you could make a pleasant time of the holidays. Please send her my love to Miss Barry," she said, her eyes misting with fond memories.

Dora smirked. "You know very well what she would say to that."

"I give you full authority to rephrase that sentiment," Anne grinned. "There's the train now - you will write once you've arrived safely?"

"I'm hardly leaving the Island!" Dora protested, though a teasing smile curled the corner of her lips where a frown had been not long ago.

The arrival of the train rivaled any efforts to converse, as did its shrill accompanying whistle. Goodbyes were said in a frenzy of kisses, hugs and additional instructions remembered at the last minute - and in a cloud of charcoal flavored vapor, Dora exited Avonlea.

x-o-x-o-x-o-x

Later that morning, Anne found herself at the pharmacy. A small brown bag sat on the counter, containing some herbal infusions Doug hoped might help Mrs. Blythe sleep better. Predictably, Cormac Russell had been most excited to receive young doctor in his drugstore. Not that Dr. Porter didn't keep him busy, mind you, but the old man was terribly set in his ways, and utterly failed to appreciate the importance of meticulous dosages.

As it often did when great minds had been kept isolated too long, an avid discussion regarding the benefits of syringe-induced anaesthetics over inhaler masks ensued. Anne tried in vain to hang onto the limited medical lexicon she did know - however, she found herself unable to follow (much less to contribute), and had to listen on dumbly, nodding here and there as if she understood half of what the eager pharmacist was saying.

Cormac had retrieved his finest pointed hypodermic needle from its display case, and was showing it off, when Little Sally Hopkins barged into the establishment with the finesse of a freshly branded bull.

"Mr. Russell - oh! Miss Shirley, the doctor's with you! Thank the saints, if this isn't a sign!"

"Sally, what is it? Has something happened?" asked Anne.

Little Sally Hopkins paused to catch her breath. Truthfully, she hadn't been little for some years (just a year shy of Davy and Dora), but Anne found it difficult to think of her formal pupil in any other way.

"It's Jeannie," panted the young lady. "She's unwell. We can't wake her up. Mother thinks she has the Fever - we don't know what to do!"

Doug lost no time in volunteering his services. After grabbing some necessities and additional supplies, compliments of Mr. Russell (Anne made a mental note to settle the bill later), they hopped into the buggy and raced the short distance to the Hopkins' farm.

Mrs. Hopkins sobbed with relief to see that help had come for her youngest girl. She hovered close by while Doug bent over the patient to assess the situation, and recounted the horror of finding her daughter inert in bed that morning, burning with a high temperature: how she knew straight away from the sweat soaking her pillowcase to the clamminess of her hands that she had contracted the dreaded disease.

"Alright: I know what this is," declared Doug after a quick inspection.

"Is it the Fever? I knew it! Oh, Doctor, what shall we do?" cried Mrs Hopkins, wringing her hands.

"I need everybody to clear the room. Except for you, Anne, if you don't mind."

Sally ushered her mother out with some difficulty, but managed to shut the door on her distraught wails.

"Shall I boil some water?" asked Anne worriedly, trying to anticipate what might be expected of her.

"Perhaps in a bit," said Doug, unconcerned, taking the newly vacated seat by the bed. "First, I'd like to ask young Miss Hopkins a few questions. Jeannie, was it?"

To Anne's astonishment, the till then unresponsive patient cracked an eye open. Doug nodded his approval.

"First off, I'd like to congratulate you on a wonderful performance. You've spared no detail on this one: obviously, there was some extensive research done in order to pull it off so convincingly. Keeping hot bottles under the sheets was a nice touch. Spraying down the pillow case with 'cold sweat' - well, that's plain clever. Down to the clammy palms! Licking them when you though we weren't looking? Why, that was inspired!"

The girl said nothing, but heaved a deflated sigh. Doug went on unperturbed. "Your plan is unfortunately flawed. Dr. Porter might have been more sympathetic to your plight, but he knows just as well as I that there is no single disease called The Fever. Did you know that?"

"There is, too!" Jeannie pouted, her light brown ringlets bouncing as she turned her head on the pillow. "Louise Clark's cousin caught The Fever, and he had to stay in bed for three days without doing chores!"

"He might have had some kind of fever," the doctor conceded patiently. "A mild one, by the sounds of it. A fever is really a symptom - something that comes along with an illness. It could accompany something as benign as a common cold, or it can be brought on with something much graver, such as typhoid. Then there's influenza, smallpox, scarlet fever... all these varieties, with different degrees of gravity."

He studied the back of his hand, allowing the child to absorb the information. "So... what kind of chores were you hoping to avoid today? Or was it something else?"

The little face disappeared under the quilts, thus muffling her reply.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

"History exam," repeated Jeannie, annoyed as she emerged from the sheets. "It's on the French Revolution. I mean, really, what's the point? I'm not French. I don't plan on being French. So who cares if they revolved? The whole kingdom could spin around on their heads for all I care, it still doesn't change the fact that I don't have a new spring dress to wear to the Sunday school picnic!"

Anne's eyes widened, and she inhaled sharply to disguise a gasp: having been both a student and teacher herself, such a tirade ought not surprise her, but Jeannie's nerve nearly had her in stitches.

As for Doug, he sat back triumphantly. "Well, the way I see things, you have two choices. You can stay here in your room, and let me prescribe you all my finest cures for The Fever: fish oil, ice baths... I might even suggest amputation, if you don't get well by this evening. Nothing drastic - a toe or two should suffice."

Poor Jeannie's skin took on a legitimate tinge of green. "Or, maybe it wasn't The Fever after all. It might have just been a slight headache or an upset stomach - how was anyone to know? You might even feel well enough to catch up on your chores, and study extra hard for the history exam."

"Oh, but Mr. Stevens is ever so strict!" moaned Jeannie dramatically. "He'll keep me back until I do all the reading for history, and finish a thousand essays!"

"I'm sure that your teacher will be understanding," said Doug patiently. "Especially if you had a doctor's note."

Large, brown eyes gazed upon even larger, browner eyes. "Would you? Could you?"

Doug chuckled. "I could, and I would, on one condition." He waited for the girl to sit up, all eager eyes and flouncing curls. "You will be as helpful as you possibly can around the house for the following days, and especially kind to your mother, who is very worried about you. And not a word about new dresses, for a while at least. Miss Shirley and I will be checking on you."

Jeannie started, only then remembering the presence of the other redhead in the room. "Miss Shirley! You won't tell Mr. Stevens, will you?"

"Not if you promise to behave," said Anne, swallowing back a chuckle. "I'll even help you study, should you finish your chores in time."

x-o-x-o-x-o-x

After Jeannie's solemn promise to be good, and the heartfelt thanks of a mother bewildered by her child's miraculous recovery from what might not have been The Fever after all, the Good Doctor and Miss Shirley were on the road again.

Feeling out of sorts herself, Anne hardly noticed that Orlando's gait had slowed down considerably. An energetic colt from the start, she knew it was not fatigue but thirst which slowed him down.

"Would you mind stopping for a bit?" she asked, her voice slightly pinched. "There's a nice walk around Barry's Pond. We'll let the horse drink from the creek."

In a courteous manner which she assumed was entirely natural to him, Doug complied easily. Anne breathed in deeply: it would do her good to stretch her legs. Perhaps a stroll, breathing the scent of sweet, green grass would help her get her thoughts back on track.

They parked the buggy under the shade of a tree. Once Orlando was tethered loosely enough that he could dip his long snout in the cool stream that fed into what had once been known as the lake of shining waters, they took off at a leisurely pace down the dirt path.

"Amazing, how quiet the day gets out here," commented Doug. "In the city, it's unusual to experience any silence while the sun is up."

"Even on Sundays?" asked Anne.

Doug shrugged. "I wouldn't really know - I'm always working. There's no time for sabbath at the hospital."

Unorthodox as it sounded, she supposed it was forgivable for doctors and hospital staff to work on Sundays if they _had_ too. Patients couldn't be faulted for seeking help on a Sunday, and it would be unchristian to deny anyone medical attention on any given day. Oh, Anne couldn't even fool herself - she hated the so-called day of rest: all the quiet and doing nothing made her feel restless. And she suspected that Marilla had felt the same way, though the old woman had been far too disciplined and devout ever to betray such sentiments.

Her breathing sped up. She had beside her a veritable wealth of knowledge, someone who held the answers to her thousands of questions. Yet, a part of her knew that she might not like what he'd say, dared she ask.

 _Anne Shirley, afraid of the truth? Well, that's a first._

The sarcastic barb was predictable, but its aim was on point. Piqued, she inhaled sharply, and pushed the words out before cowardice could dissuade her to speak.

"Did you ever go to church with Gilbert?" She stared ahead, studiously avoiding his gaze.

"Not really," he said after a moment. "Except for one time, at Easter."

"One time?" echoed Anne meekly.

He sighed. "Gil rarely went to church, if ever, as far as I am aware. We have a chapel at the hospital, I never saw him there... though he did sometimes pray in his room, and on occasion before meals. He was rather private about his faith. Why do you ask?"

She shook her head mutely, the bitter bile of dismay invading her mouth.

"Anne?"

Forcing herself to breathe normally, she affected as easy a tone as she could. "Just curious."

How could she admit her disappointment in the deceased? To _Doug_ , nonetheless, who had been his best friend the last few years of his life! "He wasn't a reprobate, you know. Just - busy."

Yes, busy saving lives. But he'd lied to his parents about his lifestyle - what would they have thought of him? Did Mrs. Blythe even know the boy she was mourning? Did Anne?

"Seriously, how are you still hung up on this?" said Doug with an incredulous bark of laughter. "So, he wasn't perfect: who is? Gil dying young was a tragedy, but it didn't make him a saint. Honestly, it's not worth getting your knickers in a twist over it."

"Getting my... oh!" she choked, outraged. "You have no idea what this could mean! To his family, to all of Avonlea! He was the golden boy, the one who-"

"Would you listen to yourself?" he interrupted. "Who could possibly live up to those high standards of perfection? Of all the hypocritical-"

Though Anne shoved with all her might, she never expected to be able to move him. Caught by surprise, Doug's large frame tumbled into the water with a great, big splash. _Serves him right_ , she thought, not entirely able to convince herself. He bobbed up to the surface and took a frantic gulp of air, his arms flailing wildly, managing only a garbled "Help! Can't-" before his head was submerged once again.

Anne froze: he was drowning. She'd drowned him.

Swallowing back a cry of terror, she turned to their surroundings. There was no one around for miles - the farmers would be at work in their fields, and the children in school. Her eyes landed on the coil of rope on the nearest dock, and she raced to fetch it.

"Catch!" she yelled over Doug's panicked thrashing, and casted one end in his direction. He struggled, and for a while she thought he might not be able to grasp it - until one final, desperate lunge brought him near enough to close his hand on the lifeline she'd cast him. "Hold on!" she instructed.

Anne fought against his mass, her hands burning from the strain on the rope. Reeling with all her might, she fervently hoped that she would be able to hoist his heavy body onto dry land. He was getting closer, but what if she couldn't get him out in time? Or at all? Bracing herself, she pulled with all her might: perhaps too hard, because the rope tugged back sharply, and she felt herself toppling over.

Unprepared to be immersed, Anne let go of the rope and inhaled a mouthful of iced water. Scrambling to expel it from her airway, she was surprised when something clasped her forearm and dragged her up to the surface. The grip transferred to her waist, and she could do nothing but choke helplessly, relieved that help had come for them. As the air came back into her lungs through wheezing breaths, Anne became aware that she was pressed flush against a jiggling mound of wet fabric. Now that her hacking had dissipated, she could hear...laughter?

"You!" she croaked indignantly at her rescuer. "You- you...scoundrel!"

Doug merely threw his head back and laughed harder. One of his arms trod the water easily to keep them afloat, while the other secured her against his protruding stomach.

"Unhand me this instant!" she ordered, glaring through the curtain of wet hair obscuring her face. When he didn't comply, she let go of his shoulder and slapped at his chest. "I mean it!"

"You have a real gratitude problem, you know," Doug smirked at her, stoking her indignation. She seemed to waffle between thanks or another insult - in the end, she went with neither.

"You're touching me inappropriately," she muttered, affecting embarrassment. Doug loosened his arm so that she could change positions - and reached quickly when she slipped out of his grip, but not quickly enough: she sank quietly, like a stone. He barely took the time to fill his lungs before ducking under the surface, swimming downwards - how deep could this pond possibly be, anyway? - but didn't find her. The water at the bottom was too murky to be able to see much past his hands.

Doug kicked back up to the surface, took a deep breath, and wasted no time in diving back down. She couldn't possibly be far: he'd seen her drop straight down. He ignored his increasing despair and searched on, until a voice called out his name. He spun towards the sound, and was rewarded with the sight of Anne with both feet on dry land, casually wringing water from her skirts.

"Looking for something?" she asked as nonchalantly as one could while shouting across a pond, shivering from the cold.

"Don't think you've won this round!" called Doug, starting a lazy crawl to shore. Anne gathered her hair to the side to squeeze the excess water out, while he heaved himself up with the grace of a walrus, dragging half the pond onto dry land with his massive frame.

"I thought you couldn't swim," he panted, wiping water from his eyes.

"What? Of course I can," she replied, almost scandalized at the insinuation, giving her skirts another vigorous twist.

"Suppose you learned after your misadventure in the sinking flat?" he asked, reaching for both their hats and following her back towards the stationed buggy.

"Oh, I'd learned much earlier than that," she shrugged easily. "It was - well, I don't remember when, but I definitely knew how to swim then."

"Then how come Gil had to rescue you from drowning?"

"He liked to live under that impression," Anne rolled her eyes. "I was never in danger of drowning, not really."

"Oh?" Doug's humor registered not on his face, but transpired through his voice. "I suppose you were just - how had he put it - fishing for lake trout?"

Her corset squished disgustingly when she crossed her arms. "Exactly what did he tell you?"

"That some of your friends had dared you to ride a flat by yourself down the river." Bending over to remove his shoes provided him with an excellent excuse not to meet her blazing gaze. "Somehow, the flat sank, and you found yourself clinging desperately to a bridge pile until he rowed over and rescued you. And that his valiant heroics were most under-appreciated," he concluded, emptying a gallon of pond water from his shoe.

Trust Gil to annoy her beyond the grave!

"He forgot to mention the most ungallant teasing before he supposedly rescued me from the pile. If he truly thought me in danger, he would have helped me out first, don't you think?" She shivered as a gentle breeze highlighted the cool state of her garments.

Doug glanced around them, then back at her with an odd blank look on his face. "Alright," he said, undoing a button at his collar. "Fair warning: these clothes are coming off."

A strangled "What?" escaped her throat.

"I'm freezing cold and soaking wet. These," he gestured at himself with one hand, "aren't going to dry on me, and I won't be able to borrow anything that remotely fits. If I'm to wear these later on, they've got to dry now."

Already half his shirt undone - Anne quickly spun to face the other way. "If this is what you consider a fair warning, I wonder at the alternative."

"Eh, I might not have given you one at all. You can do the same, you know - I wouldn't mind."

He'd rendered her temporarily speechless. "I'll bet you wouldn't!" she sputtered inelegantly when at last she found her tongue. The _flep_ of his sodden shirt hitting the ground at her feet fueled her indignation.

"I might not even look, if given proper incentive. I'm assuming no one will find us here at this time of day?"

"And if they did?" she challenged through gritted teeth and an overheating face.

"Then, they could feast their eyes upon my naked voluptuous glory."

Well, _she_ certainly wouldn't give him the satisfaction of looking. The wet _shlop_ of his trousers as they joined his shirt caught her unawares _,_ and he chuckled mercilessly at her yelp.

Between the creek, the puddle of clothing at her feet, the presumably nude man behind her and Orlando's judgmental frown, Anne struggled to find a safe place to rest her eyes. She stood rooted to the ground, unsure she could even move without stepping into scandal. One thing was certain, though: if Gil ever failed to be a hero, Doug wouldn't even try.

x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x

Anne sighed luxuriously as the sun crept over her toes. The late morning breeze didn't feel so cold now that she had gotten used to it: she closed her eyes and let it caress her face.

If her legs felt strangely bare under her skirt, it was because her petticoats and stockings were stretched out in front of her in a sunny patch of grass, thoroughly wrung out and laid out to dry next to Doug's comically wide trousers and bedsheet-sized shirt. Their hats hung from a low branch, dripping side by side, and higher up in the tree dangled their shoes and his socks.

As for the clothing's owners, neither's complexion allowed for too much exposure to direct sunlight, and so they sat with their backs pressed against the rugged trunk of the same tree. The leaves created a large enough shade that they each sat on separate sides. It was a tad cool without the benefit of the bright warming rays, but even so, they were still drying out.

"I've come up with two explanations," said Doug from his side of the trunk. "Neither of which makes much sense."

"Explanations?" echoed Anne dreamily, her eyes following a plain, lone, white butterfly fluttering about.

"For your ending up stuck under that bridge. Either you were indeed fishing for lake trout - unsuccessfully so - and felt understandably embarrassed at being caught. Or, you were running away, hoping to find the sea by rowboat, only to have your escape cut short."

Anne snorted. "You couldn't be further from the truth." She offered no further explanation.

"What, then?" he pressed on, unwilling to drop the subject.

"We were...playing. My friends and I." She sighed. "We'd just read the Idylls of the King, and became infatuated with the story of Elaine and Lancelot. You know the one? Of course, you don't. It wasn't even supposed to be me, either way, but Ruby Gillis was too afraid, even though she was best suited to be Elaine, as a blonde-"

She halted abruptly at a wracking gutteral sound. Concerned that Doug was legitimately choking, Anne whirled around and inspected (not for the first time) the side of his white mountainous form which protruded from behind the tree. She was on the verge of jumping to her feet when he cleared his throat.

"Sorry- please continue," he apologized with an odd squeak.

Shrugging, she turned back. "Well, I would have been fine. It was not that I couldn't swim - merely that I was hampered by the coverlet. It wasn't really a coverlet, but the Andrews' crepe piano cover. I was also wearing Mrs. Barry's black shawl, and between them both, you see, I found myself quite encumbered. _You_ try swimming against current with so much fabric around your arms!"

The choking sounds began again, only to evolve into booming peels of laughter.

"Would you kindly cease?" she reached behind her blindly and smacked what she hoped was his arm. "That's quite enough!"

"I...did..." he croaked helplessly through his unabashed amusement. "Didn't think...it- could get...any _funnier_!" he finally managed, earning himself another unseeing whack. "Alright, I'm done. Sorry." He regained his composure with some difficulty. "Did he know?"

"I must have told him," sniffed Anne haughtily, though she found that could not remember for sure. It had all happened such a long time ago... a chill passed through her at the thought that two of the friends involved in that distant day's adventure no longer roamed this Earth.

"Shall we head back?" he asked, as though he'd perceived her chill: impossible, since she had strictly forbidden him of peeking in her direction once her toes had been bared. Quickly, she reached for her petticoats and slipped on her stockings as deftly as she could.

Doug himself showed no such shyness: ever at ease in his own thick, white skin, he paid no mind to Anne's curious stare as he picked up his damp shirt and shook it free of grass.

"As good as it's going to get," he muttered, buttoning it up before throwing on his vest. "Alright - ready, if you are."

Their hats had dried misshaped, and they had to drive back with bare heads. Thankfully, there was no one around to see them, except for Mrs. Blythe who had come towards the front at the sound of the buggy.

"Goodness, what happened?" she asked immediately, her eyes darting from Doug's disheveled attire to Anne's limp, damp hair framing her face (the ribbon previously holding up her plait now resided in the murky depths of the pond).

"We might have had a little accident, involving some accidental shoving and a body of water," quipped Doug in that reassuring tone he'd so cleverly perfected.

"Oh, Anne," reprimanded Mrs. Blythe with a chagrined smirk. "Again?"

"Me?!" exclaimed Anne, surprised to be so quickly blamed. "Why, you-! I never..."

But Doug was already being ushered towards the house. "There now, we'll have you warm and dry in no time," cooed Mrs. Blythe, as though consoling a child. "Anne, dear, will you stay for a warm drink? Some tea'll warm your insides while your dress dries by the stove."

"I've got to get back home," she declined, eager to exchange her mucky outfit for a clean set of clothes. "This is for you, though - from the pharmacy. Doug picked it out."

"It's nothing," Doug waved off the woman's effusive thanks. "Just a mild sleeping aid."

"So thoughtful of you," sighed Mrs. Blythe fondly. "Do come in, before you catch a chill! Anne, we will see you shortly after breakfast tomorrow, I presume?"

She nodded. "I'll be over at nine o'clock."

x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x

That night, as she stretched her long form under the covers, Anne's mind wandered toward Doug Sheehan, of all places.

She wondered why seeing him in his state of half-undress hadn't shocked her so terribly. Perhaps it was the fat enveloping his body which lent a false sense of modesty, and that was enough for her: the soft pectorals almost feminine, though too triangular to fully resemble a woman's bosom, the flabby skin of his pudgy stomach smooth and unmarred as a newborn's, bulging over the waistband of his trousers.

Alone in her room, Anne allowed her thoughts to run uncensored. Was this what all obese people looked like underneath their clothes? She frowned, thinking of Mr. Barry, who wasn't quite as large, but carried a bit of surplus 'round his belt - and Mr. Hammond, whose excess was covered in repulsive hairiness.

Doug had hardly any hair upon his body, save for the twin tufts of flamboyant orange under his armpits. Why it surprised her, Anne had no idea - hers were, after all, just as vivid.

Gilbert's underarms, she recalled, had sprouted dark curls. He had been somewhat hairy: his arms dusted with dark brown, as well as a patch on his tanned chest, and a tantalizing trail disappearing into his trousers. His build reminded her of a roman sculpture, in size as much as in definition: slender, yet incredibly toned.

Anne knew this from the two summers she'd spent noticing him - definitely _not_ spying - as he exerted himself in his father's field. Was it her fault that the fairer path from school to Green Gables lead directly by the Blythes' acres? Or that the beating sun forced Gilbert to work shirtless?

The trapezoidal concentration of pure muscle that was his torso she had glimpsed (well, perhaps ogled) was in no way similar to Doug. The large mound of a man resembled no one she knew - with the exception of herself, where coloring was concerned. He was just as pale and freckled, and that eyesore of orange...

It was almost too similar for coincidence, except that when wet, his hair had gone pin straight and shock red, in contrast to hers which had darkened to auburn. While hers had clumped into unattractive rat tails, his had dried into straight rows of curls, the natural neatness of which nearly making up for its unfortunate hue. Anne struggled to recall a pair of siblings with such differently textured hair.

 _You know, if you'd just asked, you would have the answer by now._

Tomorrow, then. The pillow swallowed her oath as she plunged face first in the down-stuffed rectangle: she would ask tomorrow.

* * *

 **A/N: Dear readers,**

 **For those of you who are playing the (19)80's mania game with MrsVonTrapp and myself, I do apologize for not posting the answers sooner!**

 **For chapter 14, the reference was the movie Cocktail (all of Coughlin's Laws but one are cited). And for chapter 15, it was Full House (only one quote by Anne Cordelia).**

 **This chapter contains no direct quotes (just one heavily doctored quote) from the movie referenced, but there are some pretty specific allusions. If you're playing, happy hunting!**


	17. 1896: March 22 - March 23

March 22, 1896

"Here it is," said Anne unnecessarily as they approached the low stone wall.

Doug offered his arm. She took it, and together they entered the graveyard. Anne showed Doug to the two newest headstones in the Blythes' plot, and whispered that she would be right back. He nodded, and she slipped off to the spot she'd visited so often in her youth, the earth around it still bore the imprints of her knees.

Here, she used to talk. She would go on, and on, spurred on by the need to share everything that had (or hadn't) happened since her previous visit: and when she was done, she would talk some more: thinking out loud, recounting dreams, wondering about the future.

The neighboring stone was more recent, and had also been visited very often since it had been placed. Here, though, Anne stayed silent. She was much older, for one - besides, all had been said that needed to be said. Rather than to chat, she came to this one for physical proximity: to touch it, to lie on the grass beside it. It brought her comfort to curl up as close as possible.

Today, she sat between them both. She couldn't speak or touch, for fear of receiving nothing in return. It had been long since the last time...

When several minutes had passed, Anne stood and went to where Doug was kneeling, unmindful of the dirt and grass staining his trousers. One large hand rested on the headstone: from anyone else, the gesture would have felt intrusive. From Doug, it spoke clearly of respect, and somehow felt friendly as well - almost fraternal.

He released the stone when she settled down next to him, and sat back. Neither spoke for a while: they breathed in the smell of early spring, watched the new grass around them yield to the breeze, observed the occasional animal visitor scurry across the rows of marble.

"I used to think that death was my friend."

Doug turned to face her.

"Something I learned at the orphanage. One of the matrons used to say that we were the lucky children who were rescued from unfit mothers and violent fathers by Providence, and we ought to be grateful. And I was - though for different reasons. I had no memory of my parents, but I knew they were good. So, in a sense, I was luckier than the children who spent time enough with parents to know their failures - mine would forever remain perfect."

Her face took a stony quality as she stared at the ground. "Then, death took Mr. Hammond, and not a moment too soon. I used to work for his family, before coming here, and... Well, he's gone, thank goodness for that."

Doug remained respectfully silent as Anne's expression softened with tenderness.

"Matthew's passing was harder to accept. In the end, though, everyone must go, and there couldn't have been a better ending for him. He went suddenly - heart attack, quick and swift. The pain didn't last long, mercifully. He would have preferred that to lying on a sickbed, with everyone hovering over him, nursing him, crowding in and invading his personal space. I'm glad he didn't suffer for long, just hardly a few seconds.

"Marilla never minded the pain: she carried through it like a warrior," she continued with a note of pride and admiration. "I've never seen anyone so brave. Death did us another kindness in giving her time: she was able to go with the knowledge that that none of us were left stranded, and that all would be well. Davy chased his future in Gaspereaux, and Dora would be taken in by Diana's aunt in Charlottetown shortly thereafter. I would keep Green Gables up and running, and Rachel - Mrs. Lynde - would check on us. I had time to say goodbye, that was a precious gift."

She looked at the headstone, and the dreamy nostalgia drained from her face.

"Death isn't anyone's friend. I understand that, now. It was just a childish notion, a way to justify being left behind by everyone I ever loved."

This made Doug sit up straighter. His mouth twisted into a skeptical grimace.

"It couldn't have been crueller. He was so young... brilliant career ahead, he had so much yet to accomplish! To experience... now, he'll never get to - and his father-"

She clamped her mouth shut. Any further use of her vocal chords were sure to stir up the moisture building up behind her eyes, and she'd certainly had enough of that. Still, despite her efforts not to speak - or think, or breathe - one solitary bead coursed down her cheek.

"I hate death," she choked, struggling to explain her fitful demeanor, barely understanding it herself. "I'm not - I'm not afraid, you see. Or sad. I... I simply do not like it." Her rush to speak had jostled out more tears; she swiped at them clumsily, gasping to keep her breathing in check. Her composure was slipping, and the more frantically she tried to recover, the slipperier it got.

A burly arm reached around, and she found herself being tugged forward. Losing her balance, she toppled into Doug's bulk, and a second beefy arm prevented her escape. Oddly, the need to flee didn't even arise. His firm hold wasn't threatening: it felt...safe. His grip was tight and secure, yet harmless at the same time. Without hesitation, Anne burrowed into his soft embrace, pressing her face against the jiggly mound of flesh that was his chest, and let herself be squeezed until the sun began its descent.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

After several hours of weeping, which had left her out of tears and sapped of energy, Anne had found herself too weak to even stand - let alone get herself home. It had been up to Doug to literally carry her back to Green Gables. At the time, she'd been far too drained to feel anything but relief. Leaning heavily against him as he supported her in his huge arms, she'd supposed embarrassment would follow later.

It didn't come when a nearly hysterical Millie greeted them on the Green Gables porch, nor when Davy was sent to fetch the forgotten horse and buggy at the church. Anne couldn't feel anything but the plush cushiness of the couch in the sitting room, the warmth emanating from the fireplace, the sweetness of Millie's rich hot cocoa. She hadn't even thought to blush when Doug had felt her brow for her temperature.

After Millie had managed to force some supper into everyone, Davy gave Doug a ride home, while the blessed girl had helped Anne fresh off with a cool washcloth before assisting her into her nightclothes. Though she'd been exhausted, sleep did not come straight away.

For a while, Anne gazed out the window. Between the drapes (which Millie had reluctantly left open at Anne's request), she stared at the moon. Listened to the owl's hoot, breathed in the grassy spring air. Sleeplessness normally drove her to light a candle for reading, sneak out for a nocturnal walk, do _something_ \- but her limbs rested lethargically beside her body, and her mind was only just reaching the confines of passivity.

Oddly, the first notion to burst her bubble of non-thought was the absurdity of Doug dragging her home on foot. She'd been completely out of sorts: what was his excuse for leaving poor Orlando behind? But never mind that: he'd been good to do so.

 _What was he going to do, leave you there?_

And there it was: the voice she'd expected to hear at the graveside (one of them, at least). She had been honest about not fearing death: however, visiting the cemetery had filled her with trepidation of what she might hear, if graves could speak...

 _Of course_ graves _can't speak, you goose!_

The point _was_ , the graves had stood deadly still, and the accusations she'd dreaded never did come. Instead, she'd gone and interrupted Doug's silent reverence by spilling her guts to him. Out spewed the words, then the tears, followed by the great honking sobs (now she felt the shame belatedly rising in her, remembering how a thread of snot had inelegantly snaked from her nose) and the hacking coughs of a distressed throat.

And Doug had held her through it all: not remotely disgusted, nor uncomfortable, he'd allowed her to make a mess of his handkerchief, then his sleeve when she'd run out clean corners (here the embarrassment doubled). Carrying her home when her legs would not (and then tripled), and staying by her side all throughout her collapse on the couch.

 _Ah, Carrots, you always did like to dramatize things._

Fine, then, if not a collapse, then an undignified wobble. To Doug's credit, he did not laugh at her (neither did Davy, nor Millie). Anne might have laughed at herself, but it was all she could do to keep her eyes open. In her nearly catatonic state, she'd allowed him to kneel so close to her (sit, once Millie brought over a chair from the parlor) and touch her forehead. The seasoned doctor made no big thing of it: just brushed the wisps of hair from her face and leaned the back of his hand on her skin, as naturally as if he were reading the time off a clock.

 _If it was no big deal, why are you still thinking of it?_

Because... because no one had ever touched her like that before. Not even Matthew, who'd expressed his deep affection through actions... certainly not by Marilla, who'd avoided physical contact at all cost.

 _I've touched you plenty of times!_

That was different. Not unpleasant, far from it - thrilling, but with an added sense of danger. _Those_ were the touches which raised goosebumps on her arms, and made her tremble with a strange cocktail of desire and fear. Doug's touches were nothing like that: they felt safe, comfortable, and utterly uncomplicated.

 _Like a dog._

Like a friend - a very good friend. More than a friend... a brother. Perhaps.

 _Do you hear clucking? Because someone sounds like a chicken._

Anne flopped onto her stomach and pulled the pillow over her head, but even with cushion pressed against her ears, she couldn't completely tune out the grating clucks. Scrunching her eyes shut, she remembered something Doug had said while Millie kept busy in the kitchen.

"You've been in mourning for quite a while. Perhaps it's time to let go of some of that grief."

It had annoyed her at the time: hadn't she, though? Wasn't she moving on with her life? She was being more social, and staying in touch with those far away. She'd gotten a job, all on her own, which forced her to interact with people and businesses in Avonlea: she'd even travelled across the country by herself, twice! What more did he expect from her? Couldn't he see how hard she was _trying_?

But she wasn't, not really, and she knew it. Despite all her efforts to focus on the living around her, she kept looking back: waiting to hear, hoping to see... moulding her habits around someone who wasn't really there.

Doug was right: she needed to let go, and so she would. She closed her eyes and spoke her vow out loud: "I'm letting go."

Whether she'd expected it or not, there was no reply. The hollow spot in her chest expanded, and Anne quickly counted up the days left till the end of the year.

* * *

March 23, 1896

"Lavinia, this is Doug; Doug, meet Lavinia."

"Charmed, I'm sure." Doug tipped his hat, but kept a respectable distance between his new acquaintance and himself.

"You'll need to come a bit closer," beckoned Anne.

"Are you sure this is safe?" he asked, casting a furtive glance over his shoulder.

"Of course," she rolled her eyes. "They're dairy cows, not bulls. They won't charge - don't make any sudden movements, though."

Doug froze, and Anne had to bite her lip so as not to grin. It was wicked of her to tease him, when his fear seemed genuine... but how was she supposed to resist such a golden opportunity? In front of her stood the great, unflappable Dr. Sheehan; she'd never seen him fearful, and wondered if _anything_ could get him off his game. Here, standing in a pasture surrounded by comically harmless four-legged vegetarians, Doug was completely out of his depth.

"You said it was safe!" His reproachful complaint tugged at the corners of her mouth until she could resist a smile no longer: her amusement caused him to blink. "Oh, _ha ha_ , very clever," he glared at her. Anne threw her head back and gave in to laughter.

"You can touch her," she managed between chuckles, petting the cow affectionately between the eyes. "She's really very sweet."

Doug eyed Lavinia dubiously. "She's humongous."

"Hush!" admonished Anne without heat. "You'll hurt her feelings. Besides, you're not exactly the smallest of your kind."

"And I like it that way," sniffed Doug. "I don't usually socialize with beasts over twice my size."

"Oh, stop being a ninny, and come say a proper hello," Anne insisted. "Don't you want to thank the source of milk for your tea? Or coffee?"

"I don't take milk in my coffee," he grumbled, but approached nonetheless. "Alright... how do I do this?"

"She's a _cow_ , Doug - leather for skin, remember? You can even slap her side, she won't mind," Anne demonstrated with a sturdy smack to the animal's rump, making Doug flinch. Lavinia barely blinked.

"Alright. Fine." His large hand reached out tentatively until his fingertips grazed the cow's side. Just as he exhaled in relief, her tail whacked about, missing Doug's face by a hair and causing him to leap back with a strangled yelp.

"It's alright," gasped Anne between peels of laughter. "She probably thought she felt a fly," she assured him.

"Yes, well, are we done here?" demanded a disgruntled Doug.

Anne took pity on him and lead him out of the pasture. Once safely on the other side of the fence, he pulled out a handkerchief to mop his brow and neck. "Never again," he wheezed.

"But you haven't been formally introduced to Orlando!" she teased, earning herself a scowl.

"I'll appreciate his company from a distance, thank you very much."

"Your loss," Anne shrugged as he pocketed the handkerchief, and they headed down the grassy path. "You might as well enjoy your last day in the countryside. Where shall we go?"

"Anywhere, as long as we stay clear of cows and horses."

"Hester Gray's garden it is," Anne chuckled agreeably. "We'll give you better parting memories there."

"I'll need some. Not that petting that monster wasn't fun," he added when she glanced at him sideways. "It might be a long time before I return."

"Oh." Surprised at her own disappointment, Anne strived for a light tone. "I'm sure you'll be relieved to be back in in the city."

"I'll miss this place," he assured her. "Not the cows - but the quiet. And the people. I'm glad I came: for the wedding, for you, and Mrs. Blythe... And I want to come back soon, but I don't know when I'll be able to take time off work again."

Anne swallowed past the odd lump in her throat. "But you _will_ come back?"

"Why, Shirley! You're not trying to say you'll miss me, are you?"

She tried to scoff, but his lighthearted ribbing had touched a sensitive spot. Weak attempts to keep a stiff upper lip dissolved into a shaky pout.

"Hey." He nudged her gently with his elbow. "You know, you could always come to Prince Albert."

"I know." Her cheeks contracted into a self-deprecating, smile-like grimace. "I'm afraid I'm no better at farewells than I used to be."

"It doesn't have to be a farewell," Doug suggested. "It could just be a... a 'till new year'."

"Till new year?" she echoed.

"Sure. I've been trying to get you to visit over the holidays for a while, now - so why not? Unless you've got plans..."

"Well..."

"Of course, you'll want to be with your family," he misinterpreted her hesitation. "Which is fine - I mean, good."

"I might be able to find some time..."

"Don't worry about it," he replied. "In the meantime, we can keep the post office in business."

Anne smiled despite herself. "That sounds nice."

"I'll brush up on my poetry," Doug vowed. "I've been working on this piece: it's about a young man from Surry, whose backside was unfortunately furry-" he dodged her elbow, and broke into a run when she chased after him. By the time they reached the garden, panting and giggling like children, Anne wasn't worrying about the new year anymore, wondering whether or not their date would be honored.

* * *

 **A/N: Dear readers,**

 **My apologies for the late update. Many thanks to all who stumble upon these ramblings. Special thanks to MrsVonTrapp for being supportive of my grumpy butt, through what's been a rough period for writing. I'm slowly pulling out of the funk, and will keep pushing myself to publish more frequently!**

 **For those of you playing the game, the hidden easter eggs in the previous chapter are: the character named Jeannie, who faked her illness, licked her palms, and her little tirade about the exam she's skipping is a loose mimic of the main character's monologue **_("I'm not European, nor do I plan on being European, so who gives a crap if they're socialists? It still wouldn't change the fact that I don't own a car!")_. **Still don't get it? Why, it's Ferris Bueller's Day Off, of course!**

 **No easter eggs in this chapter - I might have lost my mojo. Hopefully, I'll be able to publish something of which I can be proud soon! Thank you all so much for reading.**


	18. 1896: March 25 - May 17

_March 25, 1896  
_ _Avonlea, PEI_

 _Dear Doug,_

 _I cannot remember if I've appropriately thanked you for your visit - not to mention all your help with the wedding, Mrs. Blythe, and other things. In case I haven't yet, please consider this letter as an expression of my profound gratitude. Everything turned out better than expected, and you played a rather large part in that._

 _I dread to think that this letter might reach its destination even before you do. What a long journey you've had to make, and for such a short visit - you'd have spent nearly as much time on the road than on the Island. I do hope your trip back was as pleasant and restful as possible._

 _You must feel glad to be home, back with your friends and colleagues, out of sight from nosy villagers and harmless grass-fed cows. Avonlea is just as you've left it: Davy and Millie are settling nicely in Green Gables, and Mrs. Blythe is faring unbelievably better (I daresay, it was your visit which perked her spirits so). Dora has written from Charlottetown: she seems to be doing well, though I suspect the sophistication of the "city" is wearing thin._

 _Any further news to report would be gossip, nothing of interest: rumors of that 'scandalous' Keith wedding in White Sands, most likely spread by those overlooked on the guest list (the name Pye comes to mind). There is also talk of_ _a certain young Mr. Andrews, planning to buy two acres of his father's land for himself - the purpose of this is left to the gossiper's imagination, though the alleged transaction has yet to be performed._

 _Though you visited only for a few days, your absence here is felt prominently._ _Even Lavinia looked around balefully for you, the morning after you'd left - but the promise of greener pastures kept her quite distracted. I have no such way to distract myself, so please do send word. Eagerly awaiting your response, I remain_

 _Your friend,_

 _Anne_

* * *

 _April 14, 1896  
Avonlea, PEI_

 _Dear Doug,_

 _It's been nearly three weeks since your departure, and yet, no word from you. Everyone here is worried - Mrs. Blythe says that your letters to her seem to have stopped as well. Millie asks after you every day, and Davy every other. Even Dora's emerged from her cloud of egocentric manners long enough to ask of your news. I have nothing to offer them: truth be told, I am every bit as worried as they are, if not more so._

 _I do hope you're well. Are you? It wouldn't do to have you fall ill, too - not when we've only just become good friends. At least, I hope we are - good friends, that is._

 _While it was wonderful to have you on the Island, I do feel guilty for keeping you from your livelihood. You must be very busy at the hospital and otherwise, and I feel greedy in asking for more of your time - but should you find a moment to spare, might you let me know that you've arrived home safely? A short note would go a long way in reassurance._

 _Your friend,_

 _Anne_

* * *

 _April 21, 1896  
Avonlea, PEI_

 _Doug,_

 _If I was worried one week ago, it was nothing compared to what I feel now. Not panic, exactly, but the awful sensation that something, somewhere, is horribly wrong._

 _Oh, I know that this is founded on nothing but fear and doubt. After all, there are three very logical explanations for your prolonged silence. The first is that you've contracted a terrible illness, and are bedridden: incapable of writing back, let alone holding a pen, or even sitting upright._

 _The second, slightly more pleasant, is that you are healthy and well: you are simply catching up on the social obligations you've neglected, at the expense of your impromptu visit._ _A third, and most likely scenario, is that you've been working unreasonably long shifts, and sleeping (far too little, I'd venture) in between._

 _Though you owe me no explanation, and I am certainly not in any position to demand answers, I selfishly wish you would reply. Even a short note would suffice: Let me know that you are alive and well, and I promise to stop badgering you._

 _Your friend,_

 _Anne_

* * *

May 1, 1896

"Well, that's a better color on you," noted Millie upon Anne's return. "I trust the Wrights are well?"

"They are." Anne ducked halfway into a cupboard, willing the heated flush off her cheeks as she searched for a vase in which to display her posy.

"Any other news?" Millie glanced up from her simmering broth.

"The lilies-of-the-valley have finally blossomed. I found the lushest patch in the forest - aren't they lovely?" Anne held out her fragile findings to her sister-in-law, whose unimpressed glare was vaguely reminiscent of Rachel Lynde's. "That, and Doug- Dr. Sheehan called."

"I knew it!" exclaimed the girl gleefully, the matronly sternness replaced by her usual sunny grin. Though claiming to have "known" anything of the sort would have been a stretch: the call had come in at the Wrights', where Anne was helping Diana with some spring cleaning. They'd been wiping down the windows in the children's room, supervised by a cooing Jack, when Fred had burst in: redder-faced than ever, eyes widened in alarm, he'd only managed to wheeze the word _telephone_ before his wife had bolted. Ever practical in a panic, Anne picked up the wailing, frightened babe, cuddling him consolingly as she followed Fred out to the barn. They'd arrived just in time to hear Diana sigh "Thank goodness!" A pause, and then: "Yes, she's here with us - ... yes, of course." There was a quick wordless exchange (the baby for the telephone), and all was set right in a few words.

"... And?" prompted Millie.

Anne blinked, snapping back to the present. "And nothing. He'd been busy, of course - working nastily long shifts. It was good of him to call, even if he has precious little time to spare..." A pensive frown creased her brow. "I do wish he'd take better care of himself. He sounded terribly tired."

"Are you considering paying him a visit?" asked Millie, the girl's tone hushed in excitement, and fear of being overheard.

"You know how Davy feels about that," replied Anne with a smirk. "Anyhow, I don't know how much help I'd be over there. He spends all of his time at the hospital...I'd just be in the way."

"I'm sure he wouldn't mind having you around. You could make sure he gets the rest he needs, cook him a proper meal -"

"Millie!" Anne's choked laugh verged on hysterical. "Just because you're enjoying the perks of wifehood, doesn't mean the rest of the world must follow suit."

"Wifehood, my left toe," muttered the girl. "If I didn't make you have supper with us, you'd hardly remember to eat at all. It's bad enough you insist on skipping lunch - I know, I know, people with your constitution don't need as much nutrition or rest as others, and so on."

Anne smiled indulgently. "We really don't. And I'm sure that goes for Doug. He's a grown man, after all, not a child. He ought to know how to look after himself..." she faltered uncertainly.

"Go, Anne! Oh, why won't you? Wouldn't it be a nice escape?"

"We've been over this before: and there's nothing from which to escape. Why can't anyone accept that I'm perfectly happy here? Besides, I have work to do, and manuscripts to submit-"

"Well," interrupted Millie, "if you won't _go_ , you might at least send the poor Doctor a package."

It was on the tip of Anne's tongue to shoot down the idea, but her recently alleviated humor dissolved the exasperation at being shoved towards bachelors - eligible or not.

"That's a fair idea," she acknowledged somewhat grudgingly, then quickly changed the subject to dinner preparations, wondering all the while what could possibly fill a box for a friend she hardly knew.

* * *

 _May 17, 1896  
Prince Albert, SK_

 _Dear Anne,_

 _I wasn't expecting anything from you, much less a parcel - especially when your letters went unanswered for so long. I'll apologize for that again in a bit, but thanks are due first._

 _Thank you, Anne, for the gesture as much as for the gift itself._ _I really do appreciate it, as little as I deserve any presents from you. The box was waiting for me at the end of my shift, sitting neat and square on my office desk. I made the mistake of opening the package right then and there, instead of at home, and Kate walked into my office just as I'd started unpacking its contents... as soon as she recognized your penmanship on the labeling, that cheeky little thief seized the jar from my hands, refusing to return it. Judging by color, I imagine that it might have contained some type of preserves or other. So, Kate thanks you, and I've vowed to repay her kind at some point, when things have slowed down enough._

 _Let it be known, though, that I am generous by nature: the rest of the bounty is being shared willingly. S_ _everal of our nurses can be seen nursing a cup of steaming Green Gables' herbs, and m_ _y office is host to many a hungry colleague hoping to score a homemade pickle, or a piece of nut brittle. Even the director stopped by my desk under the pretense of checking on a patient's file: I made the sorry man blabber on about the case a solid quarter an hour before letting him know that the patient in question had checked out two days ago. Don't waste any pity on him, though: he earned a nibble of soda cake for his troubles, and has returned no less than three times since then for more. You've made me the most popular bloke of the week, and I'm sorry it's taken this long for me to even acknowledge it._

 _I suppose we've come to the apology portion of this letter. I've said it over the telephone, but it's not enough: Anne, I'm sorry. The hospital can be a wretched place, the field of medicine comes with an unforgiving schedule. Still, it doesn't excuse the fact that you went so long without news. I'd imagined you might have felt insulted or hurt by the lack of response, but hadn't dreamed of causing you any concern._

 _Please believe that I never meant to make you worry. It is important that you understand this, because what I am about to admit is an ugly truth, one which you might find somewhat upsetting. Work does keep me busy, and I might be running a tad low on rest... but the truth is, I could have written back earlier. It might have taken me less than ten minutes to scribble a line or two, seal and address it. I might have even talked someone into posting it for me - now that my office has turned into the village pantry, everyone is eager to trade a favor for a biscuit._

 _The reason I haven't - see, this is where it gets hard - is that I had nothing pleasant to say. Exchanging pleasantries was all fine and dandy before, but having seen how you live, I've let my pen run dry. You belong to a world of beauty and warmth, Anne. That Island of yours is magical - everyone is kind and polite, and you live surrounded by your family and friends. Even your foes regard you with admiration, their poor attitudes born of envy rather than genuine hatred. You are immersed in the charm of country life, while I am immersed in frantic chaos. I don't know what Gilbert was thinking when he'd asked me to keep an eye on you: you're splendidly surrounded. What more could I offer you that isn't tainted with fast-paced city grime? And to think I was arrogant enough to pressure you into visiting...! What did I think you could possibly gain here, that you do not already have there?_

 _I'm embarrassed to say that the only reason I caved in and called was out of nostalgia. The impromptu escapade to Avonlea made me want things I never knew I'd missed, and you were my link to that. Guilt upon hearing the Wrights' relief was nothing compared to hearing your own voice, though - so I'll say it again: I'm sorry. If you could find it in you to forgive me, I promise never to cease communications like I did. That was inconsiderate, and I am ever so sorry._

 _Your friend always,_

 _Doug_


	19. 1896: May 25 - August 15

_May 25, 1896_  
 _Avonlea, PEI_

 _Dear Doug,_

 _Thank you for your letter, but please do not worry about writing back if you're too busy. A short note would suffice, or even a quick ring to the Wrights (they'd happily relay a message). It is more important that you get an adequate amount of rest, and that you are properly fed. This parcel includes three more jars from Green Gable's cellar: plum preserves, currant jam and apple jelly. One is for Kate, the others you may keep for yourself._

 _Doug, you were with me during some of the most difficult times in my life. And when you could not be physically present, you stayed with me by correspondence. I see what my silence might have put you through back then, and for that I do apologize. If you think I will let you wallow in self defeat, you are so very mistaken. I will bombard you with letters, and you may respond as you please - but never doubt that you are an important figure in my life. Gilbert knew I'd need a friend like you to pull me out of a slump, and so I shall do the same for you._

 _I'm not surprised that you enjoyed this stay in Avonlea. You'd only ever seen PEI in winter before, for a few miserable days. If you found it pleasant in early spring, you ought to come back for summer on the Island. Of course, you'll be busy then - but do know that there is always a place for you in our corner of the world._

 _Your friend,_

 _Anne_

* * *

June 17, 1896

Anne stood squinting against the sunlight, looking for Fred. She spotted him down the road, slouching against the buggy, and set her face into a scowl as she stomped off in his direction.

There were times when she really loved Fred, the man who'd helped her keep Green Gables afloat when he had his own farm to manage, the doting father to her nephew, niece and godchild, the friend who made sure she always felt welcome and included in his family.

Now was not one of those times. She loathed - no, _despised_ \- everything about Fred, from his disgusting habit of using a stick to pick muck from the bottom of his shoe, to the repulsive act of wiping the sweat off his red, shiny face with his sleeve. Honestly, would it not occur to him how much labor this would cost Diana, come laundry time?

"You're done?" he asked redundantly, tossing the stick carelessly aside and dragging his grubby hand along the side of his trousers before extending it to Anne.

She ignored the gesture and lifted herself up into the buggy unassisted. "I'm ready to go home," she announced imperiously.

"Much obliged, your Majesty," offered Fred in his best country drawl, heaving himself up into the driver's seat.

Anne crossed her arms, struggling to control the wobble of her lips. A thick swallow, a deep breath - but nothing would do. One sideways glance at him, and she lost it.

"Don't make me laugh!" she complained between unladylike guffaws. "I'm still cross with you, Fred Wright!"

"Anne-" he began, a bit contrite. She silenced him with a raised palm.

"I know it needed to be done," she conceded. "But I don't appreciate being ambushed, especially not by someone I'm supposed to trust."

Fred ruminated on her statement for a bit before replying. "Would you have come along peacefully, if we hadn't ambushed you?" he eventually asked.

"Probably not," she admitted. "But I would have liked the chance to make up my own mind about it."

"I'm sorry about that part, then," shrugged Fred.

"And I'm sorry for being difficult," Anne apologized in turn.

Fred nodded and set the horse in motion with a clack of the reins. "Is it too soon to ask how it went?"

"Oh, very well," she grumbled. "I'll have to return for a fitting in a month's time."

"So you do need spectacles, then?"

Anne glared. "No, but I begged for him to prescribe them, because my face felt so dreadfully unencumbered by steel."

"Your nose could do with a bit of decoration," commented Fred, earning himself a sharp shove to the ribs, which he laughed off.

They rode on in silence for a while. Anne observed her travel mate as he tilted the brim of his hat against the beating midday sun. Though she deeply resented having been lured out of town under the false pretense of gift shopping for Diana, she had to admit that Fred had been in the right.

"Why do I have to be so difficult?" she moaned reflectively.

"I really don't know," he replied without taking his eyes off the path ahead. "But you can make it up to me when we reach White Sands - a bag of licorice ought to the trick."

"I rather think you owe me the apology!" came her impertinent retort.

"But you don't like candy."

She barely held herself back from shoving him clear out of the buggy. "Just- drive," she bit out through gritted teeth, seething at her friend's good natured laughter.

* * *

July 2, 1896

Anne wondered how many funerals the average person was supposed to attend in a lifetime.

Certainly, a reverend would be expected to preside over his fair share: as many as weddings, at least. Or was that meant to be the double, since a wedding was a celebration for two, and rites for the deceased (usually) for individuals?

Besides religious authorities, there was another category of people who never missed a burial: these self-appointed ministers of information made appearances at all the church functions, receptions, celebrations of any sort - especially funerals. Vultures, Rachel Lynde used to call them, for the shameless way they fed off of other people's mourning. "Any one with a shred of decency," she'd declare haughtily, "wouldn't dare impose themselves on a family during such times. Now _do_ hurry up, Marilla! The Bell's baptism starts in less than an hour, and I will _not_ be sitting all the way at the back!"

The corners of Anne's lips raised the slightest bit at the memory, then sagged back down upon hearing Dora muffle a sob in her handkerchief. She looped an arm around the sniffling girl, remembering that she had come for emotional support as much as etiquette. Had there been any choice at all, she would have gladly skipped it altogether.

It wasn't that Anne bore any ill feelings towards the deceased, or lacked of sentiments: on the contrary, she'd adored Aunt Josephine. Their correspondence might have slowed down to the point of a yearly Christmas card, but the memories of their little meetings over tea were fond ones. But Anne felt that this was one farewell too many for her. Losing friends nearly as fast as she could make them... it felt like a curse, some sort of punishment.

Oh, it was fanciful reasoning, she knew. Arrogant, really, to take the natural course of life and death as divine retribution aimed specifically towards her, for who-knew-what.

Anne clenched her jaw, and turned her focus back to the heartbroken young woman beside her.

* * *

 _July 10, 1896  
Avonlea, PEI_

 _...It was a somber affair, until the arguments broke out. An army of Barrys and Marignacs all in black, disputing who was entitled to a larger share of the family fortune, demanding to see birth certificates and threatening each other with lawyers and accountants. Poor Miss Barry - she was really a very generous person, who simply hated being solicited. She had the last laugh in the end: having donated every last penny to the Charlottetown hospital, there was nothing but the fine silverware and imported china to be divvied up!_

 _My description doesn't_ _do her justice - she really was a lovely woman, Doug. We got along splendidly, and she'd been so wonderful to Dora. No doubt she would have adored you as well: Miss Barry did have a delightful sense of humor, once you got to know her._

 _And so, Dora is temporarily staying with us in Avonlea. It's lovely to have her back, though she is having a rather hard time adjusting to her surroundings. Green Gables is no longer the home of her childhood: and while Davy and Millie both insist that there shall always be room for family and friends to stay as long as they wish (that includes you!), I daresay the recent change of environments has Dora a bit upset..._

* * *

July 28, 1896

"OUT you go! On with you, SHOO! And don't you even think of coming back inside!"

The bellowing was followed by a slam of the door so thunderous, it made the walls rattle. Anne, who had heard the whole through the cotton in her ears - and more impressively, over the resonant clanking of her typewriter - sighed, and marked her spot on the handwritten page before exiting the office.

"I'll take care of it," she raised a hand to a harassed Millie on her way to the kitchen, where she found Dora furiously scrubbing furiously at the floor.

"Fifth...time...this...week!" grunted the girl as she drove the rag so vigorously, it might have shredded to pieces.

"Why don't Millie and I take care of this, dear?" offered Anne. "You go on and rest."

"He oughtn't be in the house in the first place!" Dora was yelling again. "He's filthy and he reeks! Tracks in mud, paw prints everywhere..." the abused rag found itself suddenly sloshed into the bucket, and viciously wrung out.

"He's being trained," defended Anne meekly. While secretly agreeing with her - how trying it was, at times, to find Green Gables in any state other than pristine - she did feel that the young, blonde beauty was being a bit of a pill to the other residents of the newly-mussed house.

"Animals belong _outside_!" Dora pronounced, her red face and flared nostrils likening her more to a Dragon, than the young Charlottetown sophisticate she'd become.

"Didn't Aunt Josephine have Phineas indoors with her at all times?"

It had been the wrong thing to say, Anne realized as Dora's face crumpled, and hot tears seeped down her inflamed cheeks.

"Phineas was adorable," she wailed, tossing the rag aside. "He was small and well behaved - all he ever did was sit on her lap. He never barked, never made a mess - not even in the end! Besides, I meant _here._ Marilla n-n-never would have allowed that- that _monster_ inside the house! She wouldn't even allow cats, Anne! And they're ever so much cleaner than dogs could ever dream to be!"

"Oh, Dora," Anne knelt beside the sobbing girl to run a soothing hand across her back. She recalled now how vehemently the little girl of eight had begged to bring one of the barn kittens in - to keep her "warm in bed," she'd claimed at the time, though Anne suspected she'd wanted to play mother to a fuzzy baby: a game invented by Diana, and perpetuated by Minnie Mae. Marilla would have none of it: wasn't it hard enough to keep the place spick and span with children about? Seeing the mess Davy alone was capable of creating... No, there would be no pets inside Green Gables, and if Dora felt cold at night, she would receive an extra hot water bottle.

"I know how you feel," Anne said softly. "I really do, darling. But Marilla is gone, and the house belongs to Davy and Millie, now. They've promised to take care of the messes themselves, remember?"

The girl's eyes shone almost yellow, reminding Anne of the very cat she'd wanted to adopt. "Then they should do it," she declared sourly.

"And they shall," promised Anne, reaching for the rag and reapplying it to the puddle on the floor. "Now, why don't you step out for a bit, breathe some fresh air? You could stop by the general store - we're nearly out of cinnamon."

Dora sniffed, but nodded: the screen door shut behind her, sending a draft through the room, the house breathing its own sigh of relief.

"I _am_ sorry, Anne," apologized Millie as she tiptoed into the kitchen. "I would have no problem keeping Chester outside, really. But Davy..."

Anne swallowed back a grimace. Chester, as he'd been christened, was a nuisance of a dog. She'd never quite appreciated the accuracy of the proverb "like owner, like pet" until Davy had brought home the beast. At forty-seven pounds, one could barely call it a pup: yet, the odd-looking, slobbering mutt could not have reached its first year. For all his youth and exuberant playfulness, he was already large enough to stretch across the upholstered divan in the parlor, and a single whack of his thick, shaggy tail could upset a small table, and shatter whatever might have been sitting atop.

As clumsy as he was affectionate, Chester was eager to make friends with any being he met, and eat anything which might fit between his great jowls. The young explorer stuffed his brownish-grayish muzzle wherever it might fit, inspecting every nook and cranny by means of his keenly developed olfactory sense, and made a rather nasty habit of marking whatever spot dit not reflect his own scent adequately.

"It's all right," Anne smiled stiffly, nearly choking on the falsehood. "This is your house, after all. Davy is entitled to do as he wishes." Though she suspected that the lad wouldn't insist on allowing the animal to romp freely in and out, were _he_ to clean up after even half of the disasters.

Millie took the rag from Anne with another apology, and promised to have a talk with her husband that night after supper (as Davy, ever the boy, was still prone to be much more reasonable on a full stomach). Anne stood with a sigh and headed outside to wash her hands at the pump. Spying Chester rolling around in the flower bed, happily crushing the fragile blossoms with his furry bulk, she sighed and wondered if it wasn't time she find a place of her own.

* * *

 _June 12, 1896_  
 _Prince Albert, SK_

 _Dear Nan,_

 _I do hope that this note reaches you well. Your brother is being oddly secretive of your whereabouts, and will not properly tell me how to address the envelope. I can only trust that he'll deliver this for me: so, if I don't hear from you soon, he'd better watch himself!_

 _Thank you for the preserves! They are divine. You know, I was dead serious when I said you could stay with us anytime, as long as you baked. Won't you please come visit again? Beth will be moving out soon: she's gone and gotten herself engaged, sentimental fool that she is. Anyhow, she's pleased as punch, and her husband-to-be is a delightful chap, if not a bit stuffy._

 _Do think about it. I can easily convince Marge not to rent out the room straight away. Please consider it, Nan - if not for yourself, then for your brother, who has become even more private and ill-humored than usual. I'd blame the overwork, except he's often maintained his cheer through unreasonable hours... there's something else, I think. You've got to come and snap him out of it, because nothing any of us say here appears to reach him._

 _Sincerely_

 _Kate_

* * *

 _July 29, 1896_  
 _Prince Albert, SK_

 _Dear Anne,_

 _Don't listen to that blabbermouth Kate: she doesn't know what she's talking about. I'm doing fine, thank you very much, and if she won't take my word for it, hopefully you will._

 _The hospital is busy as ever. I would write if I had anything interesting to report, I truly would! But I very much doubt that you'd want to hear of my daily patient roster, and I haven't the time for much else. The most fun I have these days is while reading your letters. Keep them coming, then, and I'll stay forever amused!_

 _I'm sorry to hear that things are tense at Green Gables. It sounds as though your house is growing crowded quickly - what will you do? Do you mean to stay, or do you plan on finding somewhere else to board?_

 _I see you've reverted to the pen. Are your arms bothering you again? Be honest, now: tell the doctor where it hurts._

 _Your friend,_

 _Doug_

* * *

August 15, 1896

Children and adults alike had turned up to celebrate the resuming of class at the schoolhouse. Indoors, two tables held a staggering amount of pies, all filled with the summer's freshest berries: two of the younger members of the Ladies' Aid were serving up slices topped with whipped cream beaten earlier that afternoon in the agonizing heat. Mrs. MacPherson hovered scowlingly over the drinks stand, ready to intercept whatever troublemakers would dare dream of dropping into the punch bowl.

Outside, the lack of a wooden floor did not discourage many from dancing: the old fiddle and pipe had been dusted off for the occasion, and every square foot that had been swept clear of pine needles and errant twigs was occupied by merry jiggers. Even Charlie Sloane was feeling unusually festive: the man had shed his contemptuous sobriety and stomped about sprite as a deer, dragging along the poor Mrs. Charlie as he went.

It was in the midst of the festivities that Anne realized she was no longer in mourning. Didn't Diana used to have to coax, beg and threaten her to attend social events? And yet, here she was, present of her own volition: not exactly at the heart of it all, but not hiding in the sidelines either. She stood somewhat close to the action, chatting with Trudy Doherty, the sweet schoolmistress who'd taken over the Avonlea School - Anne was mid-sentence, actually, when her eye spotted Dora, and she knew immediately that she was through.

Anne hadn't felt the cloak of grief slip from her shoulders. She certainly hadn't shed it voluntarily: had wrapped herself in it, worn the heavy garment to shield herself from the world, nearly suffocated in it, but not entertained the idea of setting it aside.

It must have slid off little by little, because it was now enveloped around Dora's dainty frame. The girl wore it elegantly: her black collar contrasted nicely with her blonde curls, and the tired pallor of her complexion brought out the luminescence in her eyes. Even the downwards slant of her pink lips shaped her mouth into a perfect pout, and no less than four young men were currently attempting to turn it into a smile - or at least gain her undivided attention.

Not that the girl would humor either of them. Henry Bell had never stood a chance, and neither had his cousin Tommy; Ralph seemed to be the most successful so far (more so than Gordon Shaw), but still the cloud of misery hovered above her.

Anne didn't have to wait long before Trudy was asked to dance, and hurried straight away to Dora's side. "Are you ready to go, dear?" she asked softly after greeting her all-male entourage.

"Actually," Dora began uncertainly, "Ralph just offered to walk me home..."

"You could come with us," invited the man-boy gallantly as the others took their leave, a tad disgusted to have missed their chance.

"Oh, no! No - no, thank you," Anne smiled. "You two go ahead. I've just remembered - I need to fetch my pie tin from the concession stand."

Dora frowned. "Surely that can wait? Mrs. Bell said she would bring it back tomorrow morning."

"Well, I also need to ask Diana a few questions. Go along, then - and Dora, dear? I might be here a while, so don't wait up for me."

The girl flushed at Anne's lack of subtlety, and ducked her head bashfully as Ralph held out his arm to her. Anne smiled and headed back inside: now that she'd committed to give them some time alone, she might as well have another slice of rhubarb.


	20. 1896: September 9 - November 24

_September 9, 1896  
Prince Albert, SK_

 _Dear Nan,_

 _Thank you for the second round of preserves. Doug says you're probably busy, and that you shouldn't bother sending packages, but I say keep them coming! You don't have to, of course - but if you were, might I request cherry next time?_

 _Won't you at least come for a visit? That brother of yours is acting odder every day, even the patients are starting to take notice._

 _It's really a pity about the house. With Beth gone, Marge is now threatening to have her cousin move in with us. That girl is a bore, Anne: please, don't make us take her in! The house is too big for only the two of us, and we won't even charge you for rent - just a bit of baking, and helping out with the chores would suffice. Don't make me beg. What's so great about wherever it is you are, anyway? Unless you live in New York, it can't possibly be better than here!_

 _Sincerely yours,_

 _Kate_

* * *

October 14, 1896

The Barry's Harvest Fest took place on an unseasonably warm day. The lawn was spattered with coats and shawls, discarded by participants in the more vigorous activities, such as tug of war, and egg-and-spoon racing; at the drinks booth, the punch and cider bowls had nearly run out, while the hot coffee and tea pots remained practically full.

This year, Diana hadn't needed to plead or bargain: Anne had come of her own free will, and even volunteered her services as a keeper to baby Jack. The position having been already overfilled by Eloise Wright, Minnie May and Mrs. Barry, she'd found herself relegated to apple bobbing duties.

Standing at her assigned post, Anne felt aged. Here she was, towelling wet heads and fussing over drenched collars like one of the mother hens. Preventing playful little tots whose names she didn't know from tipping over the basin, discouraging some of the older boys from starting what could have been a bully water fight, struggling to remember to which clan each drippy face belonged. Was it really so long ago that there hadn't been a single stranger to her in Avonlea?

Certainly in her time as a schoolmarm, she'd gotten to know most everyone through her students: parents, siblings and extended family. Before that, AVIS had kept her in the loop... it didn't help that today, she kept no company outside of the Wrights, and an occasional visit to the Harrisons. Checking on Mrs. Blythe was less of a social call, and more of a part of her daily routine: she would make sure the pantry was kept full, help with chores, and make small chitchat over a cup of tea.

Anne supposed she'd at least know the members of her congregation, even if she hadn't been formally invited to join the Ladies' Aid meetings which followed. Oh, Diana would have loved for her to tag along, but to tell the truth, Anne found no more pleasure in belonging to such groups or clubs. If she thought it wouldn't worry her loved ones, she wouldn't even bother going to church.

"Alright, dear," she tugged at an enthusiastic bobber's shoulders. "You've had your turn: time to let someone else have a go, now."

"But I didn't get one!" spluttered the girl, no older than six, who was sure to get scolded for the sodden mess which had once been carefully coiffed golden curls.

"Here." Anne quickly patted the child dry as best she could, then reached with a long arm into her stash of fresh, unbitten fruit.

"Hey, how come Fritzi gets an apple?" whined a boy waiting his turn. "She didn't even win it!"

"Because she tried very hard and didn't give up," reasoned Anne, running out of teacherly patience. "And Fritzi, mind you stay in the sun for a bit!" she called after the plump little legs merrily trotting away with their controversial prize.

More complaints rose from the queue, but Anne was too preoccupied to pay them real mind: her eyes kept moving from the child with his face in the water, rear up and wiggling like a duck's, to the hayride station where she was certain she'd seen Dora two bobbers ago. Had she missed seeing her get on one of the carts with Ralph? There was Fritzi barrelling up the hill, doing a damp victory lap with the prize awarded for effort rather then skill...

A great shriek resounded from the ponies' enclosure, too alarmed to be a cry of joy: all living creatures stopped and turned to see what the emergency was (short of the miniature equines, who went on munching on their oats and defecating on Mr. Barry's prized greenery).

Anne was not alone in being surprised to identify the source of the commotion as Millie, who was being held by her young husband over one of the shetlands: it was quickly deduced that he'd teasingly wanted to plop her down on the infamously proud creature, who'd already bucked more than one daring child off its backs. The fall to the ground would wound the ego more than anything else, as the fall was no higher from the ground than from a milking stool.

"David Keith, set me down THIS INSTANT!" bellowed the angry wife, grasping onto his shoulders, her voice pitched louder than it had ever been. Anne stood too far from the action to hear Davy's cajoling murmurs, but it apparently did nothing to mollify Millie, whose screamed reply echoed in all of Avonlea's ears: "Because I'm with CHILD, you great dope!"

* * *

 _October 20, 1896_

 _...And that's how we found out that she's pregnant, due in April. Poor Millie was frightfully embarrassed: had Chester a doghouse, Davy would have spent the night in it. She made him sleep in the barn, and I can't say I blame her! He really is too grown to play this sort of pranks anymore. He's chuffed to bits, by the way - we all are, of course. If Green Gables hasn't seen a proper wedding yet, at least it will witness baby Keith's birth._

 _I'm troubled to be one of the reasons Millie waited an entire month to tell anyone. It is natural that she would want her mother with her - did she truly think I would mind? It_ would _make things rather cramped, though we might not be able to tell the difference at this point, as Dora likes to point out at least once a day. The girl constantly seems to forget that we are now guests, and will always be welcome to stay as family, but not masters of the house. Yesterday, she pitched a fit because she couldn't find the breakfast trays, and accused Millie of storing them in the wrong place. I had to send Millie out with Davy for a walk, and make Dora promise never to yell at anyone in this house in such manners, especially not her pregnant sister-in-law. Her adolescent behavior baffles me - she was such a good child, though you'd never know it from the way she carries on.  
_

 _Davy's acting odd as well. He is naturally very pleased, and comes downstairs every morning whistling; dotes on Millie to the point of exasperation, which is sweet (verging on nauseating, really). One would expect a bit of nesting from Millie, but strangely enough, it is_ he _who goes around moving furniture, and figuring out the best way to block the staircase. I'd also imagined he'd encourage Dora and myself to vacate the premises as soon as possible, but he seems even more opposed to the idea than before. And he's actually looking forward to Mrs. Hodgson's visit. The young couple will get no privacy, I'm afraid: between her and Dora, Ralph and Henry (who stay over for supper after helping out with the crops once a week), myself, and Chester, we'll be having a full house.  
_

 _Wouldn't you know, that dog had Millie figured out long before us! He'd taken to circling around her (we were worried at first he might 'mark' her as he did the coffee table), and barking aggressively whenever anyone moved in too close. The clever beast has a protective streak, it seems, and won't allow anyone he deems dangerous close to his new self-appointed ward. He'll even growl when Davy goes to touch Millie's belly. Chester really is quite endearing, and though the discipline is not yet where it should be, he's slowly learning that throw pillows are not to be shredded to pieces (now, if only he would stop drooling on them!) and that relieving himself is best done outside (or he looses his indoor privileges instantly)._

 _I've bored you sufficiently with dog talk - when you get a chance, let me know how you're faring. Do remember: healthy doses of eating and sleeping between shifts. I know I don't need to tell a doctor how to take care of himself, but...well, Kate says that you don't seem your best, and that worries me. __Please tell her that I've received her note, by he way, and that I'll write her soon. Do take care, won't you?_

 _Your friend,_

 _Anne_

* * *

November 3, 1896

Anne tapped her foot impatiently. Almost an hour had passed since she'd sat down at the table with a fresh pile of paper and the resolution to hammer out a fresh tale, and what did she have to show for it? A sheet full of useless scribbles, crumpled into a ball under her chair. Its predecessor had been fed to the stove, and its successor seemed to be destined for a similar fate: six false starts taking up half a page, all crossed out, and several splotches where her pen had hesitated too long.

Normally, she would have set her writing aside and gone out for some inspiration. A chat with Diana was sure to bring her back to a cheerful place... even just frolicking outside on her own would suffice to improve her mood.

Today, though, she was housebound. Davy, terrified to leave his wife and baby-to-be unattended, had decreed that Millie was never to remain alone in the house. Surprisingly, Millie had agreed, and Anne began to suspect that the young woman was starting to feel a bit nervous herself.

And so she was stuck at home, unwilling to wake a napping Millie with the infernal clang of her typewriter, until Dora returned from the Barry's. She felt herself growing more agitated with every second that dragged by, when a knock on the door startled her from her state of restlessness.

Eager for a distraction, Anne bounded from her chair and flung the door open with enough vigor to frighten the unsuspecting visitor on their doormat.

"Ralph! I'm sorry, I was just about to... well, it doesn't matter: what can I do for you? Davy's not in - wait, I thought he and Henry were coming to _your_ fields today?"

"He is- I mean, they were," stammered the man-boy, remembering belatedly to tip his hat. "Good afternoon, Miss Shirley."

"Won't you come in?" Anne exclaimed enthusiastically, causing Ralph to take a step back. "I'll put on some tea. Tell me, how is your sister? Have you any news from her?"

"Thank you, I, uh... thank you." The handsome fellow dutifully stepped in after her.

"I haven't heard from Jane in ages. I keep meaning to write her: I actually stopped by Winnipeg last year, but it didn't occur to me to - Oh, Ralph, I'm sorry! Here I am, prattling about, when you were probably looking to see Dora."

"I'll admit that was my original intention," a handsome boyish grin played on his face as Chester nearly bowled him over in affection, swinging his tail like a baseball bat.

"She's out at the moment - at the Barry's, sewing with Minnie May. You might be able to catch her on her way home, she's due back any time soon."

"Thanks, Miss Shirley. I'm sorry to run off-"

"Go on!" she shooed him away, smiling as he threw a hasty "goodbye" over his shoulder. Would today finally be the day? _Godspeed, Ralph!_ she called silently at his retreating form, crossing her fingers hopefully.

* * *

Novembre 6, 1896

"I don't understand what's taking them so long!" Anne frowned up at the curtain rod she was dusting.

"Perhaps he needs to make his intentions clear?" suggested Mrs. Blythe from the wardrobe.

"He's made his intentions clear a _ages_ ago," scoffed Anne. "Mind you, he make a terrible mess of things at first, I don't blame her for calling things off at first. But he's made up for it since then, and she's warmed up to him - actually, she's downright pleasant with him, which makes _one_ person she's nice to these days. So why won't they get on with it, and have their happily ever after?"

"Oh, Anne," chuckled Mrs. Blythe. "I'm sure there's more to Ralph and Dora's story than what little we know: matters of the heart always seem stupidly simple to outsiders. My John had a devil of a time courting me! And my poor Gilbert: so handsome, he was... I never understood why he couldn't get himself a nice girl. No one of interest in this small town, I suppose."

Anne steadied herself against the wall, having nearly fallen off the chair on which she stood. This was decidedly neither the time, nor the place to have a heart-to-heart with the woman who might have been her mother-in-law, had Anne only said yes.

* * *

 _November 8, 1896  
_ _Prince Albert, SK_

 _Dear Anne,_

 _Thank you for your letter. I'm perfectly fine, just operating on a doctor's schedule. It's quite busy, as you can imagine. I've delivered your latest letter to Kate. Would you kindly tell her to mind her own business? That girl is too nosy for her own good._

 _I hope all is well in Avonlea. Take care._

 _Your friend,_

 _Doug_

* * *

November 17, 1896

Anne banged into the hallway, shoving the door shut against the punishing cold. It had been a rough day for delivering typed documents across town - a distance even less pleasant went journeyed by foot. A new addition to Davy's ever growing list of rules: the buggy was never to be out of Millie's reach, in case of emergency.

Inconvenienced by this problematic addendum, Anne was certain she'd found a valid compromise in the possibility of having a telephone installed, but the insufferable lad obstinately refused. "How would Millie or the baby get any rest with a telephone ringing loudly at all hours of the day? No, no way." When she'd pointed out that the line could be hooked up in the barn, his outrage had doubled. "And spook the living daylights out of Orlando? Not an option: now, would you drop it already? I've got work to do."

At times like these, Anne felt a surge of sympathy towards Dora. She had to remind herself that these were the concerns of a young father-to-be, and while some of his requests felt unnecessary, most of them were fine and fair. Besides, he was master of the house now, and Anne wanted to be helpful.

Bracing herself against the wall, she yanked the boots from her frozen feet and undid her coat with numb fingers. She'd removed her hat, and was about to call out to Dora, when a familiar voice drifted in from the parlor. Fighting the urge to walk in a straight line to the kitchen stove, she made her stiff limbs carry her to the room they kept for receiving company.

"In a tea, it's most helpful," Diana was saying over Jack's head. "You're not supposed to let it boil, mind you: ginger root is more efficient when steeped in warm water."

"How warm?" asked Millie, her left hand resting protectively on the slight protrusion below her waistline, taking notes on a card with her right.

"Small bubbles - slow, not rushing. Anne, there you are!" Diana smiled. "Jack, look who's here! It's your Auntie Anne!"

"I'm sorry, Di - did I forget we were meeting today?" Anne racked her brain, but didn't recall making any plans.

Diana shook her head. "I just stopped by to see how Millie was fairing, and to ask if she needed any help. But it's nice to see you too, dear!"

Anne swallowed back a small pang of surprise. "Oh hush, and hand him over already," she demanded, holding her hands out. Diana complied and transferred the pudgy little fellow into her arms. "You beautiful boy," she crooned, conjuring the sweetest smile she could for the adorable little being.

"Diana has the best advice," gushed Millie. "All I've been hearing so far are dark warnings about what _not_ to do, followed by 'oh, but you'll surely be fine, dear.' Just yesterday, Mrs. Billy Andrews was telling me of the time she strained to reach a pot-"

"-from the top shelf, nearly strangling her baby with its own umbilical cord, yes. We've all heard that one," Diana rolled her merrily twinkling eyes in such a way that Anne's hurt melted away. "Codswallop, all of it. Reaching on the highest shelf won't hurt your child, Millie. But you _will_ want to drink plenty of fluids, and get rest whenever you can - trust me, you'll miss that the most!"

Anne tuned out their chatter for a moment, and nuzzled into the soft, yeasty babiness. Jack Wright cooed at the cold tip of her nose nudging his own. The precious bundle in her arms acted as a shield against those hard feelings of inadequacy and rejection. While it was certainly nice of Diana to pay Millie a visit, why hadn't it occurred to her to ask Anne along? Not that she _had_ to, of course - as her dearest, bosom friend, Diana and her kin had a standing invitation to come in and out of Green Gables as she pleased. A warning would have been nice, though.

It was an ugly and petty thought, and she knew it, but she couldn't help it - the resentment of being left out sat heavily in her, right below the spot where tiny bootie-covered feet kicked contentedly. So she wasn't a mother: she was still knowledgeable in the field of childrearing. She'd cared for more babies than Mrs. Billy had seen in her life, had minded toddlers for days at a time when she was but a child herself... did Millie not think her qualified to give sound advice?

Jack's little fist punched the air just beneath her nose, snapping her out of her self-indulgent pity. "Yes, you _are_ the sweetest thing, aren't you?" Anne asked conversationally, wiping a dribble of spit from his spongy cheek. It was ridiculous to get her feathers ruffled over such matters: she had never been pregnant or given birth, and it was normal for Millie to seek and receive counselling from more experienced women, no matter how ill-meaning some might be. At least Diana would have been genuinely helpful and reassuring.

There was a stir, some struggling, and then a great wail which interrupted the sharing of Great Wisdom taking place on the couch.

"And that's when you know it's time for a nap," commented Diana drolly as she went to claim her shrieking son. Anne let the mother take over, feeling cold all over where the warmth had been just a second ago.

"Thank you again for stopping by!" beamed Millie, standing up to see her guest out.

"Please, feel free to call on me anytime you'd like!" replied Diana graciously, bouncing the gradually-calming babe in her arms. "Anne, you're still coming over on Tuesday, aren't you? The whole sewing circle'll be there - we've added Millie's crib refinery to the list of projects, so we'll need all the help we can get.

 _Even this unmarried childless spinster,_ Anne thought uncharitably. Still, she managed to twist her lips into a genuine enough smile, though it was hardly mirrored on the inside. "Naturally! I wouldn't miss it." But she wouldn't promise not to threaten anyone at needlepoint, _especially_ not if provoked by an Andrews.

* * *

November 24, 1896

"Of course you did the right thing, Anne. Fred, you tell her."

"It was only a matter of time. We all knew she'd have to go sooner or later."

Their words were of little comfort, but Anne took solace in their grim expression. It was good to know that they were as affected as she was- no one else in Avonlea seemed to care.

"It was her home," croaked Anne, her throat still soar from two rounds of crying.

"John and Gilbert were her home," reasoned Diana as Fred handed Anne a handkerchief. "Without them, it's just a house for her."

Fred nodded. "She'll be fine with the doctor and his wife. More people there to look after her, make sure she eats and sleep, doesn't wander off..."

"Besides, she likes the Glen: she said so herself. This is a good change, darling."

Anne shook her head. "I feel like I've committed murder."

"Nonsense. And I'm sure Dr. Sheehan will understand - did you want to try and call him again?"

"He's probably still in surgery. I've already written him with her new address anyway, so he's bound to find out sooner or later."

"He _will_ understand," insisted Diana. "And if he doesn't, he'll get a piece of my mind."

Anne squeezed fondly at her bosom friend's hand, feeling all the more foolish for begrudging the attention given to Millie. How could she ever her bosom friend? No matter how fully Diana was living her life, Anne felt reassured to know she could always count on her kindred spirit.


	21. 1896: December 1 - December 24

_Glen St. Mary  
December 1, 1896  
_

 _Dear Anne,_

 _Please forgive my penmanship and spelling. While these old hands might still knit and sew, I'm afraid they've grown unaccustomed to writing. Nevertheless, I hope you are able to decipher this note._

 _Katherine mentioned that you've telephoned a couple of times. I'm very sorry to have missed your calls. Traveling even such a short distance took its toll, and I've spent more than a fair amount of time sleeping off the fatigue, under Dave's orders._

 _I don't mean to sound old and sorry for myself. I'm fine, actually - better than I've been lately. Catching up on rest is only one of the perks of being in the Glen. You should see the kitchen they've got here: it's enormous! Not that I get make much use of it - Miss Baker, the housekeeper, is quite territorial when it comes to cooking space. I've dusted off Dave's piano, and play to pass the time, when I'm not helping Katherine with the mending, or other minor chores she'll allow me to perform._

 _She hinted that you might be feeling guilty about what transpired. Anne, dear, I beg you not to feel that way: you absolutely did the right thing in sending me here. I wasn't quite myself, and hadn't been for quite some time. It was nothing grave, just a horrible sense of gloom and despair I hadn't been able to shake. __I'm afraid my condition forced you to make a tough decision - and it was the best thing you could have done._ _Being cared for and fed takes some getting used to, but I do recognize the necessity. And life is good in Glen St. Mary. Not to say that it wasn't in Avonlea; life is good, anywhere._

 _Do write, or call again. I need to know that you don't blame yourself, especially when there is no blame to be passed. It all worked out for the best, I can assure you._

 _With love,_

 _Sarah Blythe_

* * *

December 4, 1896

"The Harrisons; that makes ten...their son and his brood; fourteen...who are we missing?" asked Diana pensively as she wound a length of red ribbon around her pine wreath.

"You-Fred-Freddie-Small Anne, Davy-Millie, Dora," recalculated Anne as she twisted a mean-leafed branch of holly into submission. "Two Harrisons plus four Harrisons, and me...are you _sure_ there were fifteen to start with? Have you accidentally counted Jack?"

"I don't think so," frowned Diana. "Goodness, who've I forgotten this time?"

Anne smiled at her bosom friend over the kitchen table, which was barely visible under the lengths of precious silk intermingled with lace, all in festive colors. The pincushions kept getting lost under puddles of textiles of all sorts, and skeins of the brightest yarns dwarfed their cousin thread spools. Joining the party from outdoors were pine cones, which obnoxiously insisted on testing the laws of gravity at the slightest breeze, their slightly better behaved sisters Mistletoe and Fir, as well as some supple branches to serve as a base for the wreaths which were being crafted.

"Don't fret, Di," said Fred as he entered the kitchen to grab the good scissors from the table, leaning over for a cheeky peck to his wife's forehead on his way back out. "We'll just set the extra place, and figure out who it is late," he called most unhelpfully from the parlor, which Freddie was helping him decorate.

Diana leaned to glare through the door. "And how do you propose we do the seating arrangements, if we don't know who we're expecting? _Men!_ " Her expressive eye roll had Anne biting her lip to stifle a chortle.

"Maybe it's Uncle Gilbert?"

A terrible silence rang through Anne's ears, the effect as deafening as sticking one's head inside a church bell as it was being struck. So focused on threading her needle was Anne Cordelia, that she didn't take notice of the grownups gaping at her with horror-struck expressions.

"What makes you say that, Darling?" demanded her mother, her faux-casual tone barely masking the tinge of hysteria beneath.

The girl shrugged, looking up from the impossible task. "He showed up to Uncle Davy's wedding, when you weren't expecting him. So, perhaps he'll come for Christmas dinner?"

"Sweetheart, this is important," a ghastly pale Anne knelt in front of the girl and set her needle aside, taking the small hands in her own trembling ones. "I need you to answer this as best you can, do you understand?" Eager to please her Aunt Anne, the little head nodded. "Good. Now, I need you to tell me: what did Uncle Gilbert look like?"

"Big, with curly hair," Small Anne replied matter-of-factly.

"What-what color?" gasped Anne.

"Orange. A bit like yours - only, he had a _lot_ more freckles than you, Aunt Anne!"

"You big dummy," Freddie, who'd stuck his head in the kitchen to see what the sudden quiet was about, exclaimed derisively. "That's Uncle _Doug_ , not Uncle _Gilbert_."

"Am _not_ a dummy!" shouted his sister hotly, her cheeks flushing at the barb.

"Do you remember Uncle Gilbert, Freddie?" inquired his father curiously.

Freddie scrunched up his face in an effort to remember. "He's the one with the big nose and the funny eyes, right? Who yelled at us for riding our bikes in the middle of the road and scaring his horse?"

"That's Uncle Charlie, Dear," explained Diana quietly.

"Hah! Who's the dummy now?" taunted Anne Cordelia, sticking out her tongue at her tormentor.

Catching the frightening pallor taking over their friend's complexion, Fred ushered the bickering children out of the kitchen, leaving Diana to care for Anne.

"Darling, are you all right? Your hands are freezing."

"Charlie _Sloane_?" muttered Anne incredulously as Diana steered her into the seat closest to the stove. "When they think of him, they think of googly-eyed Charlie?"

"They're too young to remember, Anne. The last time they'd seen him, he was still 'Little' Freddie, and Small Anne, barely just a tot..."

"I'm sorry," apologized Anne. "I think I'm still under shock. It sounded as though she'd..."

"As though what, Dear?"

As though she'd seen him, too, Anne finished in her mind, but couldn't say it out loud without alarming Di.

"Nothing. I'm fine, now - let's get back to it, shall we? These wreaths won't make themselves."

* * *

December 9, 1896

Anne looked up from her papers at the clock. She wasn't getting anything done; for every three words she penned, two ended up scratched out. The frustration did nothing for her nerves, but there was nothing else to do: if she attempted to cook anything now, it would burn. Sewing in her state would lead to poking herself repeatedly, and she'd probably cut the patterns upside down. So, she would stick to her drafts, tedious and tiresome as they might have been at the moment.

When the front door opened, she started, but forced herself to stay seated.

"Bad Chester! Bad!" the voice she'd expected sounded over the barks of a dog who wanted very little to return outside in the cold.

Anne waited a brief moment before asking: "Dora, is that you?" And why had she taken the front door? Had she been escorted home? Or was she quickly disposing of the evidence of tears?

"It's me," she called back, taking an inordinate amount of time to remove her coat and hat. Anne tapped morse gibberish with the tip of her pen, willing her to just _hurry up already;_ when the footsteps finally joined her in the kitchen, she quickly bent her red head and pretended to scribble something dreadfully important.

"Getting cold out there." Dora peered into the kettle. "Any hot water left?"

"Hmm?" Anne looked up, feigning aloofness. "Oh, there should be." Unable to restrain herself, she asked: "So, you've had a nice walk?"

"A bit chilly on the way back," she answered breezily, rummaging in the cupboards. "Oh dear, have we run out of tea?"

"Of course not. I've just brewed some - check behind the flour."

Every quiet _clank_ of a displaced tin or jar set Anne's nerves on edge; every box set aside on the countertop wound her narrower, until she was strung as tightly as a harp.

"Oh, for Heaven's sake!" she cried, setting her pen aside and springing up to her feet. "Will you just tell me, already!"

Dora blinked up at the youngest in the line of women who'd raised her. "I'm sorry?"

"The meeting! With Mrs. Harmon! How did it go? Speak, girl, before I lose my blasted mind!"

"Oh," she replied mildly. "Well, she wanted to show me some recipes."

"Recipes?" puzzled Anne. "She gave you a cooking lesson?"

The fair young woman shrugged girlishly. "Of sorts. Ralph's tastes are particular when it comes to food, according to her. She just wanted to make sure I can keep up with the dishes she knows he can digest."

Anne started to frown in disappointment, but paused mid-gesture. "Oh..." Dora's lips lifted slightly at the corners, making Anne bat the air excitedly with her hands. "Oh! OH!" She flung her arms around the now beaming fair lady. "Dora, that's just-!"

"What? What's happening?" Davy rushed into the kitchen, barking as wildly as the excited dog at his feet.

"It's Dora!" exclaimed Anne, on the verge of the happiest tears. Confused hazel eyes sought out their matching pair, while Chester kept on yipping, bounding about their thighs for attention.

"Mrs. Harmon gave her approval today."

"Approval for wha-... Dor'! Are you saying you're finally engaged?"

"Finally? You're one to talk," muttered his sister with a droll eye roll. "How many years had you wasted around Millie before _you_ proposed?"

"Never mind me, I got there eventually!" boasted Davy with a proud smile.

"Did I hear my name?" an encumbered Millie joined the ruckus in the kitchen.

Davy grinned, trying to shove a begging Chester off his trousers. "Dora's got some good news!"

Millie's eyes widened with excitement. "Did Ralph propose?"

The sudden silence was marred only by the mutt's whining, while three inquisitive humans stared at Dora for a confirmation she hadn't yet delivered.

"He did."

"Oh Dora!" "Congratulations, darling!" exclaimed the women joyously. Davy even leaned forward to kiss his sister on the cheek, in a rare display of affection towards her.

"Where is the poor sucker? he asked, looking around. "Not hiding outside, is he?"

Dora shook her head. "We wanted to celebrate with family tonight. I wanted to share this with you. There'll be precious little time for that after we set a date. And besides, I've had enough of Mrs. Harmon for one day."

"Well, we're thrilled!" Millie pressed her sister-in-law's hand between her own fondly. "Have you set a date, yet?"

Pearly white teeth nibbled a pale pink lip. "We're hoping for late April, though it might end up being early May. The deed to a third of his father's land should go through by February, but Ralph wants to wait for March to finish renovating the old barn..."

"You hear that, Anne? No running off to Prince Albert, now! You've got a wedding to plan."

* * *

December 18, 1896

Anne heaved an epicurean sigh as hot water gurgled, filling up white porcelain: setting the kettle down, she held her mug close to her face, letting wisps of citrus-scented vapor to caress her cheeks. This piping hot lemon tea would cap off her night beautifully.

She took the stairs slowly, stepping carefully so as not to spill, only to come to a grinding halt in the hallway. Was that _singing_ coming from the master bedroom? she wondered, barely registering the scalding liquid sloshing over the rim and onto the floor.

She quietly tiptoed towards the source of sound; through the shadowed doorway, she spied Millie reclined in Marilla's old rocking chair, a beatific smile figuring on her lips. On the rug in front of her kneeled Davy, his head resting on her rounded stomach as he intoned an old lullaby. What his voice lacked in precision, it compensated in affection, and the easy love with which his hands stroked the baby within made her avert her gaze.

Retreating to her room, Anne felt hollow. When had taking to bed early with tea and a book she'd already read turned into an ideal night? And how long would it remain so? Her gaze fell upon the vanity's looking glass, and she saw how pathetic she'd become: reclusive and passionless, verging on apathetic, she'd chosen comfortable routine over adventure. This _wasn't_ her - the sorry woman in the worn robe was but a pale imitation of the real Anne Shirley.

Thoroughly fed up with herself, Anne set down her mug with a decisive _clunk_ and fetched her carpet bag from the closet.

* * *

 _December 19, 1896_

 _Dearest Diana,_

 _By the time you read this, I will be on the boat bringing me one step closer to my dreams: those of a new life, a_ real _life - not this stagnant farce of an existence I've been leading in Avonlea._ _Though it hurts to leave behind the most beautiful place I've ever known, I'm afraid the Island is no longer my home._

 _How I wish I could explain in person... As it is, I've barely enough time to pen one quick note. You'll notice that I've chosen to address it to you: I'm counting on this fact to soften whatever anger you might be inclined to feel towards me._

 _I_ _promise to visit as soon as I can, and often; and solemnly vow never to forget the people who've helped raise me to become who I am today - least of all you, truest and most kindred of friends!_

 _Below is my new address: I'll send word if it changes. In the meanwhile, you know who to call, should you need to reach me urgently._

 _With all my love, Sweet Sister,_

 _Anne_

* * *

December 24, 1896

On this dark, cold night, only one figure was grinning as she entered the hospital.

Not that the place was exactly crowded, but the few people beside herself were most definitely not having a jolly time. Those waiting to be admitted were too preoccupied with loss of bodily fluids (or body _parts_ , in one severe case) to smile; those bustling out were in too much of a hurry to make it home, back to their cozy firesides and roast goose dinners, to waste time on lip movements, no matter how small or effortless.

Anne's own expression was singularly cheerful, making it all the easier for Kate to spot her.

"Nan, you made it!" exclaimed the pretty brunette, stepping out from behind the receptionists' desk to greet Anne with a fond embrace. "Thought I didn't expect to actually _see_ you until tomorrow. Didn't you want to stay in tonight and relax? Your room is all made up, you know. After such a long trip, you must be positively exhausted - Sir, I'll be with you in a moment right after I've helped this lovely lady," she informed the gentleman standing by her abandoned post without pausing for breath, before turning her attention back to the smiling redhead. "Are you certain you wouldn't rather call it an early night, dear? When's the last time you ate?"

"I'm fine," a beaming Anne laughed, squeezing her friend lightly by the shoulders. "Mrs. Inglis packed me an embarrassingly large hamper of provisions in Winnipeg - and I'm not the _least_ bit tired," she assured, fully aware that she sounded like a six-year-old Davy in her insistence.

Kate lifted an eyebrow, but did not argue. "Well, if I can't talk you into taking a nap, like a sensible - _yes,_ Sir, I'll be right with you, I promise! - person, he should be on the second story of the East Ward, in either of the rooms on the left. I'll come find you when my shift is done: we might as well go home together, if you'll be here. Now, Sir, what can I do for you?"

Throwing a parting smile at Kate, Anne moved towards the wing she thought most likely to be east. She'd met her match in the perky receptionist: if not only obstinately optimistic, she was equally equipped with the gift of unending gab. Yes, they would get on fantastically, she predicted with a widening grin as she trod up the easily located staircase.

If the ground floor of the East Ward had been quiet, the second story was practically deserted. One lone nurse disappeared in a room far down the corridor on the right, leaving Anne to explore the left side at her own leisure.

The door to the first room was shut, and the second room was silent and unlit; in the third, only one bed was occupied, by a young woman surrounded by a litter of subdued children. Nearing the fourth room, she heard a voice at last: not any voice, but a familiar one, reciting an even more familiar text.

" _...kept the coal-box in his own room; and so surely as the clerk came in with the shovel, the master predicted that it would be necessary for them to part..._ "*

Peaking through the door from a discreet angle, she first spied a row of empty beds. Inching forward carefully until the far corner of the room came into sight, she spied several enthralled listeners of various ages: one gangly adolescent boy practically swimming in an adult-sized robe; a smaller girl whose fair golden curls were pressed to her head by a bandage; another terribly young tot, sucking awkwardly on the fingers which doubtlessly replaced his incapacitated thumb. No one noticed her approach, as all eyes were riveted on the speaker.

"... _Wherefore the clerk put on his white_ _comforter_ ," he enunciated from the chair nearest the bed, head bent over the book in his huge hands, " _and tried to warm himself at the candle; in which effort, not being a man of a strong imagination, he failed..."*_

Had Anne's toe not hit a bedpan at that moment, he might have gotten through the entire chapter without noticing her. As it was, the loud metallic _ping_ startled him from his narration, and the entire room was alerted to her presence. With all eyes now trained in her direction, there was little to do but continue.

" _A merry Christmas, uncle!_ " she recited from memory. " _God save you!" cried a cheerful voice. It was the voice of Scrooge's nephew, who came upon him so quickly that this was the first intimation he had of his approach._ "*

"Fitting," muttered Doug drolly, his lips curling into a shape not entirely dissimilar to a smile. "Well, I suppose you'll all know what mean old Mr. Scrooge had to say about that."

" _Humbug!_ " most children chorused, their eyes still sparkling with story magic.

" _Bah!_ " contributed the tiny tot, removing his fingers from his mouth just long enough to utter the single syllable.

" _Merry Christmas!_ " guessed one of the younger girls - though it was unclear whether she was replying to his prompt, or merely greeting the newcomer.

"Not fair!" cried a boy whose eyepatch covered half of an indignant glare. "I was going to be Fred this time - you said it was my turn to be the Nephew!"

"So I did," acknowledged Doug placidly. "Do you recall what else I said, before we started reading? About story time ending, should someone get too excited?"

"I'm sorry," Anne apologized to both the interrupted narrator and the sulking boy. "I've come at a bad time - didn't mean to interrupt. I'll be just outside..."

"If you'll give me a couple minutes, we've another-" he paused to count, "-four pages to go, and then it's off to bed with these little miscreants."

"We're not miscreants, we're _invalids_!" corrected a girl whose mischievous grin spoke volumes on the matter.

"The way you carry on at times, I'm inclined to believe you're both," he smiled indulgently at them. "All right, then: where were we?"

Thus dismissed, Anne retreated to the deserted hallway. Through the door left ajar, she listened to the story resume, with the eyepatched boy taking back the role of the Nephew which she'd unwittingly stolen.

Well, this wasn't going quite as planned. Though Kate had warned Anne of Doug's moodiness, she hadn't been prepared for his indifference. The glacial reception could be excused in front of the children: Anne would wait until he was off duty to force a smile on his face. Like he'd done for her, she'd do whatever it might take to coax some humor into him. If she had to, she'd force some holiday cheer down his large throat.

" _...and then ran home to Camden Town as hard as he could pelt, to play at blindman's-buff.*_ And that's it for tonight: now, off to bed with you lot," he ordered in a stern voice which betrayed unmistakable fondness. His pronouncement was met with a chorus of sleepy protests, but Dr. Sheehan would not be swayed: it was already past their bedtime, and Christmas Eve or not, miscreant invalids did need their rest.

From her post, Anne listened with a swelling heart as he bid each of them a good night, checking to see that everyone was properly tucked in, vowing to continue the story on the morrow _should_ he find some free time, and _if_ they promised in turn to behave, and not give the nurses a hard time. The Doctor took some extra time to check on his last patient - a very young toddler, by the sounds of it - before whispering a final goodnight. Lamps were dimmed, and from the darkened room emerged the big man.

"Doug, I-"

Before she could get any further, Anne found herself being engulfed in his signature bear hug. Relinquishing all hope of keeping her balance, she allowed herself to sink into his embrace. Doug said nothing: merely held on, the way a drowning man might grip a buoy. Anne thought that she might have felt him shudder, but when he finally released her, it was with dry eyes and a smirk.

"Merry Christmas," she wished him with a smile.

"And to you," he replied "I've a feeling this will be one to remember."

*Dickens, "A Christmas Carol"


	22. 1896: December 25 - December 31

December 25, 1896

For the first time since arriving in Prince Albert, Anne felt her courage dwindle. Whatever had possessed her to show up unannounced, on Christmas, of all days?

Carrying a basket of treats should have boosted her confidence. Marilla had taught her the art of arming oneself with baked goods from an early age: tea cakes were appropriate for most social calls, whilst pies were best for expressing thanks, apologies and condolences - and of course, the famous plum puffs could tempt even the sternest and sullenest mouths.

For this particular visit, Anne had prepared enough cookies to feed a small army - or, hopefully, the entire East Ward of the hospital, after Kate had gobbled her fair share of the 'broken' ones.

"Are you quite sure you don't want come with me?" her host had asked that morning around a mouthful of gingersnaps, still hot from the tray. "Me ol' folks won't mind - not that they'd be able to tell if there was one person more at their yearly Christmas Day social, that's how packed it'll be. It'll be great fun, though: my siblings and cousins'll all be there, and there's always a bangin' riot when they raid Da's scotch cabinet."

Had Anne's mind not already been made, the last bit would have cemented her decision: the answer was _no, thank you very much_ , followed by an empty promise of _next time_ , and a mild scolding when the cheeky brunette swiped a finger through the oatmeal raisin batter.

She now regretted having declined Kate's invitation, informal as it had been. Standing in front of the same room she'd found occupied the night before, Anne wondered if it had been terribly presumptuous of her to show up decked in her pine green dress with the goldenrod trim (the finest outfit she'd packed), baring treats the children might not even be allowed to eat (they were sick, after all).

"Anne?"

Startled, she spun around to find the very person she'd been seeking. From his blank expression, it was impossible to tell whether or not he was glad to see her.

"Doug- merry Christmas." It was all she could think of saying, and she felt especially foolish for blurting it out, when everything about his appearance, from the unbuttoned white jacket to the clipboard in his hand, indicated that he was on duty, and not to be bothered.

"Merry Christmas," he returned politely, though not overly welcoming. "I wasn't expecting you so soon. Are you not exhausted from the trip?"

"I got plenty of rest yesterday." That much was the truth: barely had she had the time to explain her immediate situation to him the previous night (travelled mostly by train, shared a ride the rest of the way, staying with Kate and Marge) that he'd been summoned urgently, by a nurse whose face held no holiday cheer. With a toss of his big paw, the key to his office landed into her hands, and Anne had been left to her own devices since then.

Fairly certain that he wouldn't mind, she'd made herself quite at home in the space he no longer shared. Excitement of the unknown had her pacing the confines of the large room at first; and then, a certain type of restless boredom made her sit down with the battered copy of _Gulliver's Travels_ which had followed her on many a voyage. Somewhere between Brobdingnag and Laputa, the letters began to blur, and her head grew heavy. At that point, the book had gone from being a means of entertainment to a pillow, a fact her stiff neck still resented.

It was Kate who'd come to fetch her a couple of hours later, explaining that Doug was still tied up, and that it was best for them to go retire in proper beds for the rest of the night. Too tired to remember the holiday, they'd rejoined their respective rooms without ceremony.

"Are you here to see me?"

Anne blinked back to the present. "And the children," she said, feeling increasingly inadequate by the second. "These are for them," she held up her basket laden with goodies. "And for you, too, of course. Though you might choose to keep them... I didn't know whether they could have any..."

Doug took the basket and peaked inside. "They'll love these," he declared.

"Oh, well- that's good, then. You'll be able to distribute them as you see fit. Unless you'd rather-"

"Come give them yourself," he interrupted her nervous rambling. "They'll be very pleased."

 _Unlike you?_ Anne wanted to ask, but there would be time for that later, or so she hoped. Following him into the room, she smiled at their enthusiastic greetings.

"Dr. Sheehan!"

"Would you read us some more?"

"Is my mummy here to see me yet?"

"A whole 'nother chapter, Doctor, you promised!"

"Floppy Dog got hurt again. He needs stitches."

"I feel much better, see?"

" _Please_?"

"Whoa, quiet down, you scoundrels!" called the Doctor with a merry twinkle in his eyes. "You know the drill: business first, and then pleasure."

"I hate business," the sulky boy with the eyepatch harrumphed.

"Can't we read now?" pleaded the girl in the nearest bed.

"Oh, please!"

"We promise to be real good!"

"We'll see how much reading we can fit in after we're done," promised Dr. Sheehan. "Let's start with you, Anthony. How are you feeling on this fine Christmas morning?"

Anne followed the doctor as he moved from one bed to the next, taking as much interest in his young patients' emotional needs as their vitals. Poor Floppy Dog did need stitches, but that would have to wait for another day, as the waiting list for stuffed toy surgery was quite long; Gordie's mother was not in yet, but surely she'd turn up in the afternoon. All were delighted to receive a treat from Anne's basket, except for Anthony, whose muttered 'thanks' had come with a one-eyed glare.

Once everyone had been examined, the stethoscope and charts were set aside: one nod from Dr. Sheehan, and the children jumped from their beds. Pillows were arranged into a circle of sorts on the floor, and Doug had just pulled up a chair when his name was called by a frantic nurse.

"I've got to go," he said over a chorus of moans and pleas.

"I could read to them while you're busy," volunteered Anne, eager to help.

Doug seemed to hesitate for a while. "How very nice of you. Walk me out?"

He waited until they were safely out of earshot of their young audience to speak again. "About them- thanks for offering to cover for me..."

"It's my pleasure," assured Anne, astounded that he would doubt her sincerity.

"...but I must urge you to be careful, especially about what you say around them."

"Are you worried I might be insensitive to their situation?" she frowned. "Because I can assure you-"

"No! Not at all," he quickly amended. "Quite the contrary. I know you'd be kind with them - but it wouldn't do to give them too much hope. Gaining their trust is easy enough, but it has to be built upon something real. They're children: they hate being stuck here, and wish for nothing more than to get better and go home..."

"Doug." It was Anne's turn to shush him. "I understand. I shan't make any empty promises, regarding their health or otherwise."

His expression softened. "Yes. I know. I'm sorry, Anne, I-"

"Doctor, whenever you're ready?"

Doug heaved a distraught sigh, running a hand through his orange curls.

"Go," Anne gave his arm a reassuring pat. "We'll read for a while, and I'll see what I can do about getting them back to bed."

* * *

December 26, 1896

"It was nearly impossible," concluded Anne over breakfast. "I had to bribe them back to bed with a promise to come back, and a cookie apiece! And I promised to stitch little Babette's stuffed dog, which reminds me: may I borrow a bit of light gray thread?"

"Beth was the seamstress of the house, she might have left a spool or two behind," replied Kate. "Well, it sounds as though you had a pleasant enough Christmas. When will you be heading back there?"

"Later today. Before I go, though, there's something important I need to tell you."

Kate swallowed and set her cup down, a suddenly grave expression casting its shadow over her usual perkiness. "I think I know where this is going."

"You do? Oh, Kate, I'm so sorry I didn't tell you sooner! I nearly did, so many times..."

"It's fine-"

"It really isn't, though! I've taken horrible advantage of your hospitality, while you've been perfectly wonderful, agreeing to take me in-"

"-it's all right, really!" Kate grasped her by the shoulders. "I do work at the hospital, you know. We see this sort of thing happen every now and then. It's good that you came over when you did: we can take care of this together. Does Doug know yet?"

Anne blinked. "What do you mean?"

"You really ought to tell him - honestly, he's dealt with this type of situation more times than you'd dare to imagine. He won't be mad, I promise. I won't let him-"

"Er... Kate? I don't believe we're talking about the same thing."

Kate let go of her shoulders and tilted her head. "What _are_ we talking about, then?"

"About the fact that I've lied to you all this time, about who I am - that I've used Doug's name as a way to get into the hospital without being thrown out. I swear, that was the only reason we started to lie! I never meant for it to get so out of hand-"

"Whoa, just - slow down. What do you mean, using Doug's name?"

The same bewildered air was now mirrored on both their faces. "Why- Sheehan, of course. My real name is Shirley - Anne Shirley. Why, what did you think I was talking about?"

* * *

December 27, 1896

"It's really not funny," muttered Anne as Doug through his head back, the better to project his booming laughter across the hospital grounds.

"I beg to differ," he wheezed. "It's _extremely_ funny. Whatever possessed you to polish off an entire jar of pickled onions?"

"She said I could help myself to anything in the pantry!" Anne argued. "All I found were jars, and that was the only one I could open. Of course, my stomach was upset afterwards. I truly had no idea she would jump to the - the _ridiculous_ conclusions that I was experiencing nausea, or- or cravings!"

"Dear Kate," sighed Doug, wiping tears of hilarity from his eyes. "I take it she wasn't upset, then?"

"No. Surprised, to say the least, but not upset. And perhaps embarrassed, though no more than I felt - promise you won't give her a hard time about this when you see her next."

A large gloved hand enveloped her own, and it was worth the mortification to see the warmth once again in his sincere brown eyes. "You know I can't promise that."

They walked on, the crunch of cold gravel under their boots audible in the lull of conversation. Anne would have liked the Royal Hospital 'recovery gardens' - she _wanted_ to like it - if only it wasn't so cold and clinical. Lawns kept in perfect geometrical shapes, contoured by fences so laughably close to the ground, they served no purpose but aesthetic embellishment (or so she supposed). They'd looked silly enough in the summer, submitted to an unnaturally flat trim: in the winter, they were glum, geometrical pools of dirt. The lack of trees wasn't even worth mentioning - what exactly was the point of a tree, if one wasn't able to sit at its foot, find oneself cradled within its branches, or harvest its fruit?

"Doug?" she began in a small voice. "I'm glad to be here, I truly am..."

"But?" he continued when she trailed off.

Anne sighed. She hated to disappoint, but more harm would come of leaving things unsaid. "I don't know for certain how long I'll be staying."

When he said nothing, she pulled him to a halt. "Please understand..."

Finally, Doug nodded. "I do. Not to worry, Anne, you don't have to explain yourself to me."

"I just-"

The leather of his gloved index rested on her lips. "You travelled across the country to spend Christmas with _me_ , of all people. I'm glad that you came, and will treasure any time we have together."

* * *

December 28, 1896

"Oh, Miss Shirley, why does it have to be over? Can't we start over again, from the beginning?"

Anne shut the book and smiled down at the children, emerging from the land of stories and rejoining the grim reality of their shared dormitory.

"Perhaps you'd like to start another book? In the meanwhile, we best get you back to bed." Her reminder was met with a chorus of groans. Surprising, how similar the dynamics were to a classroom - and how she yearned for her old teacher's desk, in lieu of the stiff hospital chairs. "Anyhow, Dr. Sheehan has a decent library, I'm sure he won't mind loaning us one of his own books. Treasure Island, perhaps?"

"We've read that already," grumbled Anthony, kicking his pillow across the floor.

"It can't be pirates, or anything too scary," explained Mary mindfully, picking up her own white square and fluffing it neatly.

"Yeah, or Gus'll get scared and wet the bed at night," smirked Dorian, flopping onto his bed with an apathy only a thirteen-year-old boy could emulate.

"I do not!" cried little Gus, limping over to Dorian's bed with the clear intent of using his cushion as a club.

Anne, who had already learned from experience the world of trouble which would ensue if a pillow war broke out, was quick to pluck the deadly weapon from the little soldier's hands and scooped the aggravated five-year-old in her arms. "There, now," she whispered soothingly as she set him down in his bed. "It doesn't have to be pirates. There are plenty of other things to read. How about the tales of a little boy in a faraway land?"

"Does he go on adventures?" asked Luella, peering innocently from under the bandage covering her brow.

"He certainly does," confirmed Anne with a smile, sparing a hand to soothe the girl's golden girls.

Harvey sat up from his own bed, some of his skepticism melting away. "Are there villains?"

"Of course," Anne was quick to assure the frowning boy whose ailment she had yet to see.

"And dragons?" breathed Greta excitedly.

"Well..." Not in Oliver Twist, there wasn't... but to see their little faces beaming up at her so expectantly, she hadn't the heart to disappoint them. "...yes, as a matter of fact, there is an entire chapter devoted to dragons. Which we will start tomorrow, provided you all behave for the rest of the day."

"We will, Miss Shirley!" they vowed.

"We'll be very have!" added Gus, with wide, earnest eyes magnified through his spectacles.

"Miss Shirley, what's the name of the story?" Frances wanted to know.

"It's called _The Prince of Avonlea_."

* * *

 _Prince Albert, SK  
December 29, 1896_

 _Merry Christmas, Di, dearest!_

 _I trust that you had a pleasant celebration with your family and the Harrisons. The mystery of the fifteenth guest unveiled itself to me whilst on the train - Minnie Mae, of course! I hope you'd worked it out in time. (How is she, by the way? Do send her my best.)_

 _The trip here ended up being much easier than I'd anticipated, especially since it was grossly unplanned, improvised entirely on the spot: try getting a last minute train fare on Christmas Eve! Had I not thought to wire Jane New Brunswick, I might have spent the holidays stuck in a station._

 _As it was, the elegant Mrs. Inglis welcomed me into her palace for the evening of the 23rd. I'm not exaggerating, darling - vast enough to hold an entire court, and its furnishings would be fit for the royal family. I hate to admit it, but Mrs. Harmon wasn't just bragging: Mr. Inglis really does very well for himself, and it shows._ _More importantly, he's transformed our Plain Jane into a radiant mother, as well as an elegant wife, who rather enjoys her place among the high society. Even though she will never be the homemaker she'd once aspired to be (they have servants for those mundane, menial tasks, of course), she truly is happy and in love._

 _In the end, one of her butlers (you read that right - one of the butlers!) gave me a ride the rest of the way. He claimed he didn't mind, as Mr. Inglis had given him the rest of the week off to spend with his own family in Saskatoon, and so we drove from Inglis Manor, and reached Prince Albert just in time for Christmas Eve._

 _Don't take this the wrong way, but as much as I miss Avonlea (and you most of all), I'm glad I came out here._ _I don't know how to explain my folly, but to say that it was justified. Doug once left his life behind and rushed to my side when I was in need, and now it is my turn to reciprocate (not that I had much of a life to leave behind, you've hinted as much yourself)._ _He isn't well, Di: he won't tell me about it, but it is obvious that something is weighing heavily on him, beyond the expected fatigue. I believe that I am needed here, to help in whatever way I can. Kate says that he's already improved in the short time since my arrival._ _She's lovely, by the way, and sends your her best. The house is just as cosy as I'd remembered, and while I'm not sure yet what tomorrow might bring, I'm content with staying here today. Please understand, or if you cannot, I pray you might at least be happy for me, the way I have been for you._

 _Yours always,_

 _Anne_

* * *

December 30, 1896

"Are you certain Marge won't mind me borrowing her robe?" Anne worried, taking extra care not to spill any hot cocoa onto the lush forest green fabric currently covering her nightgown.

Kate dismissed her concerns with a wave of her free hand. "She won't be back until the second week of January, we'll have plenty of time to wash it before she returns. Speaking of which, have you made up your mind to stay?"

"I want to," Anne replied honestly. "But I'll need to get a job. I was hoping for something clerical - I've come to be quite proficient on the typewriter."

"Secretarial positions do pay rather well," conceded Kate. "But it's awfully hard to get hired when you're young and inexperienced, and twice as hard for us ladies."

"You were given a position, weren't you?"

" 'Given' being the keyword here: me Da's head of the neurology department, _and_ on the board," Kate declared with the Irish lilt which seemed to surface only when she spoke of her family.

Anne grinned at her friend's honesty. "I don't suppose your father's nepotism might extend to me?"

"I wish it would," Kate replied with a sheepish expression which indicated that she truly regretted the fact. "The reason I was considered in the first place - well, besides Da being highly placed, and all - was that I already knew this hospital like the back of my hand. I grew up surrounded by doctors; I can anticipate their needs, interpret most of their medical jargon, handle a mess when it's all hands on deck. And trust me, you don't know what a real mess is until you've mopped intestines from the floor."

The thought made Anne's nose wrinkle in sympathetic disgust. "I've had to clean up some accidents in my teaching days, but thankfully never intestines - only their contents."

Kate's spritely laugh tinkled over her mug. "You know, Beth will be leaving her post at the school," she mused out loud. "They've probably found a replacement already, but should there be another opening, she could get you to be considered."

And contemplated her offer. "I suppose I could teach again," she eventually conceded. "It's been a while, though..."

"You'll be brilliant!" exclaimed her new roommate excitedly. "I'll write her straight away. See, you're stuck with us, now - and you're going to love it here!"

* * *

December 31, 1896

From the moment she'd found herself alone in the house, Anne had been a ball of nerves. She'd tried on no less than four different dresses, before giving up and donning her nightgown. Once her hair had been brushed out and plaited, there had been nothing left to do but wait. Anne paced the confines of the small bedroom, which had been left mostly bare - she wouldn't unpack more than was absolutely necessary, not until she'd found a way to earn her stay. Kate had assured her numerous times that homemade pastry was a valid form of currency in the interim, and promised that Marge wouldn't mind, but it wasn't in Anne's nature to live off someone's generosity without contributing. The house was no farm, though, and as there were far fewer chores to make herself indispensable, she would need to find work soon, or go home.

Sounds coming from downstairs halted her. Goosebumps ran along her arms, and her hair stood on end. Kate wasn't due back until much later: she was working tonight, and then going to a late party. A spark of hope ignited in her breast, while the more rational side of her couldn't exclude the more plausible possibility of being intruded upon; she crept down the hallway silently, equipped with a brass candleholder, ready to swing if need be.

The foyer was empty, the parlor as well: glancing into the kitchen, she noticed that the pantry was open. Tamping down her fear, she quietly blew out her candle and cocked the heavy brass behind her shoulder, poised to strike. "Kate?" she called tentatively as she inched closer.

"You can drop your weapon, I'm unarmed - I was just looking for something to nibble."

A wave of relief washed over her at the sound of his familiar voice.

"Gil!" She placed a shaky hand over her thumping heart. "You startled me!"

His head popped out from behind the pantry door. "Weren't you expecting me?"

"I suppose... I wasn't sure whether you'd make it," she admitted, still a bit bewildered.

"What, and miss out on all this fun?" he gestured around the empty place, then went back to rummaging through the larder. "You ought to have gone out with Kate. Those parties were great."

"They're not my idea of- Gilbert Blythe, you put those down this instant! Those are for tomorrow, for the children!" Shakiness and fright gave way to profound annoyance as she attempted to pry the tin of shortbread from his hands.

"Surely they could spare some, the way you've been sneaking them treats," Gilbert managed around a mouthful of buttery crumbs, holding the tin high above her reach. Anne was forced to look up then, and took in his appearance: he was wrapped in a plush crimson night robe, cinched at the waist in an astonishingly flattering fashion, and large slippers.

"You've made yourself comfortable," she noted, tightening the belt to her own robe over her gown, which suddenly felt inappropriatelt flimsy.

Gilbert shrugged. "Why not? It's not as if we have any engagements tonight." He sat at the kitchen table and popped a second cookie in his mouth. "So, you've made it to Prince Albert. Congratulations."

"And so did you." Anne made another grab for the tin, which he slid effortlessly beyond her grasp. "I think I understand why you wanted me to come here, now. I'm glad you pushed me to do it."

"You are?" His eyes sparkled at her from beneath a rogue curled lock of dark hair.

"Prince Albert is such a thriving place. Doug seems glad enough to see me, and Kate is precious. I love it here."

"You do?" Gilbert tilted his head to the side. "Then why does it seem as though you're about to cry?"

And she proceeded to do just that. Any ounce of self control was lost in the flood of tears streaming down her cheeks, and she was stunned to find herself sobbing loudly, quite powerless to stop, still clutching the smoking candlestick. Had there not been a plethora of emotions rushing through her, she might have howled in embarrassment when Gilbert stood to take her in his arms - in her state, she could only grasp at his sleeves, and bury her face into the plush fabric of his robe.

"Shhh, it's all right," he whispered, his warm breath tickling her ear as they slowly rocked from side to side, performing an odd sort of soothing dance. "Everything's fine. You're just homesick."

Anne supposed she was. "But I don't belong there," she wailed into his shoulder. "And I don't fit in here - I don't know where my place is any longer!"

She felt his chuckle vibrate through his chest. "Oh, don't be so dramatic - you've only been here a week! Anne, look at me." His index rested under her chin, and he gently tipped her head back so that her eyes met his. "It was a big move, and you're tired. Give yourself some time to get settled. Lean on the friends you've got here, and make some more. When you feel confident and well surrounded, you'll go out there and find a purpose: until then, there's no rush."

Great honking sobs had faded to subdued hiccoughs, and mortification flooded her soul. "You're right," she sniffed, releasing her hold on him to reach for a handkerchief. "I'll be fine."

"Of course you will." He steered her to a chair and sat down beside her. "Kate'll make sure of that - provided you keep baking the way you do. Cookie?"

Anne declined, and watched as he popped another piece of shortbread in his mouth. "I'll have to bake some more, if you keep making those disappear," she noted wryly, regaining some composure.

"Why didn't you deliver them tonight?" He raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at her. "Might have been nice of you to stop by, see how Doug's faring."

" I wouldn't want to disturb him anymore than I have," justified Anne. "Besides, he's stopping by after his shift, early in the morning. Who knows how long it's been since someone fixed him a decent breakfast... I do hope he won't be too tired to eat."

"Careful, there - one would think you actually care about him," cautioned Gilbert with a spark of hazel mischief.

"Well, of course I do!" she huffed. "Doug is a dear friend, and I care for him no less than he cares for me."

He smiled enigmatically. "Somehow, I doubt that."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" demanded Anne, striving for a disinterested tone.

"Oh, nothing," he sighed theatrically. "I was just thinking of the bloke who put his commitments on hold to save you from facing a family function alone. The same one who's now twiddling his thumbs between bleeders, all alone in his office..."

"You think I ought to have gone over tonight? Without an invitation?"

"He's asked you to visit over the holidays for _years_ , Anne! What more can a fellow do? Do you wish for him to beg, the way I had?"

Were Gilbert a mere mortal, her wrathful glare ought to have petrified him. Instead, he had the nerve to taunt her with a semi-pensive, semi-amused and entirely infuriating expression. "I don't wish for him _or anyone_ to beg," she seethed through gritted teeth. "I never have, regardless of what you might believe."

"Oh, really?" A dark air took over his features. "Tell me, Anne, how long I'd had to apologize, grovel, make an ass of myself, just so you'd give me the time of day? I've spent more time on my knees than on my feet around you! I persisted for five years: how long do you suppose _he_ 'll last?"

Even while reeling from his tirade, she found herself ogling at his form: the tight set of his lips matched the dangerous downward slant of his eyebrows, while the slight hunch of his shoulders and the faint hue of red tinging his cheeks betrayed a certain boyishness. Perhaps it was due to the fact that she'd so seldom seen him loose his temper, but Anne was forced to admit that anger was a rather attractive emotion on Gilbert Blythe. There was something incredibly virile in his outrage, and yet, at the same time, she'd caught a glimpse of vulnerability through the cracks in his strained voice. It was all very alluring.

The thought startled her as it crossed her mind, and his scowl morphed into an expression of bewildered censure. "You're _enjoying_ this?"

"I'm not- how dare you..." she groped for an indignant denial, though was thoroughly unable to focus, as fear and lust raced from the depths of her soul to her mind.

"You are!" he accused, jaw slack in disbelief. "Here I am, back from the dead to offer you guidance and teach you life lessons - and you're staring at me as if-" He was silenced abruptly when a pale finger touched his rosy lips.

"I probably shouldn't be having these feelings - no now not here," Anne began in a low voice. "It makes no sense. I shouldn't be able to see you, hear you, feel you... but I do." She took a slow step forward, then another. "Tomorrow, this will all appear to have been a dream: Doug will come over, and I'll go visit him more frequently. In due time, I'll find a way to earn my keep."

Bolstered by a courage she didn't know she possessed, she extended her hand to him. "Tonight, let it just be us. I want to share this moment with you, and no one else; I wish to lie in your arms. Could we do that, Gil? Would you hold me?"

Her heart paused for a beat, then resumed when his features relaxed into a genuine smile. Gilbert opened his arms to her. "I'm right here, Carrots."


End file.
